Fury
by DragonLadie
Summary: He could have handled the kidnapping, the taunts, being tortured... But there are some hurts that cut too far... and suddenly you aren't who you used to be... never will be... ever. And when it's over, how do you move on? STRONG SUBJECT MATTER!
1. It's Too Late For Sorry

**Story Notes:**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

WARNING: This story deals with very strong subjects. I actually had it in MATURE for a few days, but the problem is that it will remain buried there. In addition, it seems so many of the "M" stories are Slash- and this one isn't, which makes me think a lot of people who don't read those sorts of stories may never check that section. So, there's my excuse. I did my best to keep the descriptions non-graphic as possible- so bear with me. If a chapter does lean on the side of overly intense, I'll attach warnings at the header. I'll probably stick this back in the other rating again at some point- but for now, I'd like people to see it.

Thanks for your understanding.

* * *

"When was the first time he hit you?"

Drip

Drip drip

Drip

Drip drip

"He… he never…"

Soft hands grasped his skull, caressing at first, then suddenly curling to pull his head back sharply. His own hands clamped down on the arms of the chair, slow runnels of blood trailing coldly down his fingertips to patter on the concrete below.

Drip

Drip drip

Drip

Drip drip

"When was the first time he hurt you?"

One hand released his scalp to drag short nails across his bare chest, his breath hitching in response. "I… he didn't…"

The hand rose to touch his lips, halt his denial. He kept his eyes shut tight, no longer pulling at his restraints. The other hand loosened from his hair now, following the path that the previous fingers had traced, delicate and teasing as they skimmed his flesh.

"When was the first time he touched you?"

He shook his head, barely noting the light sting in his arm. His thoughts were already so muddled… and it'd been so long since he'd seen daylight.

"He w-wouldn't…" But he couldn't be certain… not anymore. A flicker of something… groping hands… fear and shame… But he had no context… he couldn't remember when, he wasn't certain who...

"I don't… I don't know…"

The fingers pressed more firmly, the tips digging in slightly as they danced lower… flirting over his belly. His muscles jumped, over-sensitized and tight. It was getting so hard to think.

Suddenly, the hands were gone, and he gasped at the abrupt loss.

But the voice was still there.

"When did your father molest you?"

He couldn't be sure anymore… he couldn't be certain of anything… it was so confusing. He knew, some part of him knew, that his father would never do that… he'd die first. But a newer part… a part that was finally listening to the seductive whispers that never stopped… that didn't let him sleep… that didn't ever rise above a soft croon…

They were starting to make him believe.

He closed his mouth tightly, his lips trembling at the words he was holding in. He didn't want to… he wouldn't… he couldn't…

And then the touch returned, and he leaned in hungrily.

"Tell me. The first time he touched you, you were nine. Say it. The first time he touched you, you were nine."

He tried to shake his head again, only to feel those delicate nails digging into his temple. His cry was thin, having endured this so many times. But it was also defeated. And as the voice panted breath against his ear, he no longer tried to turn away.

"Tell me. The first time he touched you…"

A single tear slid down his cheek. "…I was nine…"

The hand rested warmly against his heated skin, the thumb brushing away the distressed moisture.

"That's good Andy. You've made an excellent step forward..."

0o0o0o0o0

Shawn munched from the paper bag clutched in his right hand. Of all the crime scenes he'd snuck on to, the best ones had to be those that occurred near food vendors; particularly if they offered something like praline-coated almonds. He crunched another nut between his teeth, moving the bag sideways so that Gus could retrieve a handful. Gus, however, seemed to have reached his quota the moment the came in sight of the body. Oh well, his loss. Another couple of sweetened nuts disintegrated under his molars.

Chewing quietly for a few more minutes, he let his eyes drift around the scene, noting the direction of the blood spatter. Really, though… other than the body… it was one of the cleaner homicides he'd viewed. She must have been killed right where she was sitting, single gunshot, close range. Given the angle, she'd been seated while her killer sat or crouched next to her. She may have even known the shooter considering there were no other wounds, nor any signs of forced entry on the front door.

"What have I said about bringing food to a crime scene!"

Shawn looked up to see Lassiter bearing down on him.

"Only if I bring enough to share?" He hefted the bag. "Would you like a nut Lassy?"

In answer, Lassiter shot out his right hand and clutched the front of Shawn's shirt, dragging him in a cloud of whimpered protests to the exit. Gus followed benignly, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Sorry Spencer, but you aren't on the guest list." said the detective as he shoved him out the front door.

Shawn tried to smooth the stretched fabric of his shirt with one hand, pouting at the less than stellar result. "I'll have you know this is a vintage garment!" He yelled in his best tattle-tail whine.

"Please Spencer, Fragglerock? Now if it was something like, oh… I don't know, a _Bullitt_ 'T', there might be some validity to your claim." With a tight, almost smile, the Head detective turned on his heel and strode back inside.

Shawn remained standing where he was, half facing Gus while his eyes followed the older man back inside. "Dude, did he just say _Bullitt_?"

Gus was raised his brows. "Does Lassiter strike you as a Steve McQueen fan?"

Shawn bit into another nut. "He does now…"

0o0o0o0

The office phone was in mid-ring as they pushed through the door. Shawn walked past it casually, flipping through the mail, as Gus gave him a dark look and grabbed the receiver… only to be met with a dial tone. "You know, for someone who complains about the bills, it might help to be available when clients call."

Shawn held an envelope up to the light briefly before tearing it open. "Don't be prickly, that's why we have voicemail. Besides, it was probably my dad. He's already left two messages on my cell wanting me to help him shingle the roof or something."

Gus had the office phone to his ear, playing back the recording. "You sure he said 'shingle the roof'?"

Tearing the credit card offer in half, the other man shrugged. "Okay, I didn't actually listen to the messages yet… I was sorta caught up in trying to get us on a murder case…"

Gus shook his head, hitting the delete button on the recorder. "He wants us to come over for dinner tonight."

Shawn nodded, walking around his desk to drop into his chair, propping his feet up on the edge, his heels resting on the same spot as always, where the varnish had grown dull from repeated scuffing. "Like I said, dinner."

"Well, you'll need to apologize to your dad for me… I have a date." Gus ignored the sudden _thunk_ as Shawn's feet reconnected with the floor. Sliding down into his own chair, he adjusted his tie before jogging his mouse to wake up the screen of his computer.

"Guuus…?"

He looked up nonchalantly, brows raised and eyes half-lidded.

"Gus, when did you get a date?"

His friend shrugged. "I don't know Shawn, maybe last Wednesday when we were at that murder suicide."

Shawn dropped his chin, staring intently. "You're dating a cop?"

"No…"

"Ooo- was it the medical examiner? She was pretty cute…"

"Shawn…."

"Well who else was…" His jaw fell open and he suddenly grinned toothily. "The forensic chick? Gus that's awesome!"

The other man smiled smugly, breathing on his knuckles and polishing them on his chest.

Their fist bump, however, was interrupted by the office phone as it began ringing again. "Your turn." Said Gus as he turned back to his laptop.

Talking two long strides back towards his desk, Shawn caught it mid-ring. "Psych, Shawn Spencer, resident psychic speaking."

Only the light hum of the lines met his greeting. Frowning, he pulled the phone away for a second before bringing it back to his ear. "Hello?" Nothing. Assuming the call must have dropped, he started to hang up when a tinny voice emerged from the speaker.

_"Please…"_

He lifted the phone quickly again, sitting down on the edge of his desk. "What can I…"

_"…don't… don't let…"_ The voice faded out to breathing… then stopped completely. A moment later it disconnected. Perplexed, Shawn slowly placed the phone back on his desk.

"That was somewhat disturbing…"

Gus didn't glance up as he stood, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. "What's disturbing?"

Shawn scratched the nape of his neck. Then he shook his head quickly, blinking it away. "Nothing, dropped call or something. So what time you picking up Cindy CSI?"

Gus checked his watch. "Two hours, and her name's Esther."

Shawn stepped in from of his friend, holding up his hands. "A piece of advice from a concerned second party? Don't ask if she wants to see your sample case."

He really wasn't too surprised when Gus simply glared at him before brushing past and heading for the door.

0o0o0o0o0

The sky was a brilliant orangey-pink by the time the two men placed their supper dishes in the sink and retired to the darkened porch, clutching a chilled beer apiece; Shawn's second and Henry's third. The shadows were thick around them. Henry considered flipping on the light, but it was sort of nice to just sit there in the dark, shrouded by the deepening night.

Dropping comfortably into the deck chairs, they stretched out to watch the water bubble over the sand a hundred yards from the back of the house. A few subdued couples wandered near the water, and one guy tossed a Frisbee for an excited lab.

Taking a small sip of the bitter refreshment, Shawn yawned softly.

"Any new cases this week?" Asked Henry. After nearly two years, the question had become almost a ritual. Sometimes, if the case was tough, the question opened the door to asking for help. If the case was solved, it gave Shawn the chance to gloat. After so many arguments and tense stand-offs regarding the kid's chosen livelihood, Henry had finally given in a little- knowing it just worked better if he initiated the subject himself. And for the past six months- it really did seem to be working.

"Not really anything the cops feel they need a psychic for. There was a murder suicide last week- some guy shot his dad…" he glanced over, and Henry raised a brow at the odd expression.

"That was the DA I read about in the paper right? I met the guy once- real asshole."

He pretended not to notice the way Shawn was clearing his throat. Finally, controlling his twitching lips, Shawn spoke again. "I thought I might pick up a case today, but it was a fairly standard murder, single gunshot, victim likely knew the killer… I'd be surprised if I was called in…"

"So you'll probably mope and flail around the station until the let you in on it, right?" He hadn't meant to let his voice get hard, hadn't meant to feel so annoyed. He sighed, setting his nearly empty bottle on the wooden floor next to his chair. It was always harder to keep the sarcasm at bay when he'd had more than two beers. Not that is was an easy task anyhow when it came to his son.

However, tonight, Shawn didn't really seem to have noticed the words thrown at him. Instead, it looked like something was weighing on him- his eyes focused inward.

"What's on your mind?"

Shawn shifted, pressing a palm into his temple and rubbing gently. "Nothing really…"

They both jumped when something smashed behind them. Henry stood quickly, staring at the open back door. "That was from inside…"

Shawn stood then too, setting his bottle on the railing. "You still keep your extra gun taped under the sink?" His words whispered softly.

"Yeah I… how did you…?" Shaking off the inquiry, Henry turned back around. "Just stay behind me okay kid?"

Sliding up close to the open door, Henry dropped low, peering stealthily around the corner. He could sense Shawn creeping silently up behind him, also crouching. Good man.

His eyes picked out the source of the crash immediately. On the floor, five steps in from the open door, the glass bowl that had held the potatoes had been knocked from the table. It was the only thing that had been disturbed. Glancing back at Shawn, Henry gestured for the younger man to stay back while he checked it out. Scanning both sides of the door, he eased himself inside. Only after ascertaining that the room was clear did he look down at the shattered bowl. Clumps of pulverized glass and potato were scattered across the thin rug. It suddenly occurred to him that the crash shouldn't have sounded so sharp unless… He whirled, eyes wide, just as his son was stepping into the room.

_"**Shawn, get dow…"**_

Shawn's body jerked suddenly, and he gasped out a sharp cry. Without pausing, Henry grabbed him to pull him to the floor when he felt something strike his shoulder. By now, Shawn's body had grown limp, and Henry felt his own strength sapping as he pulled his son away from the opening. Reaching up to his shoulder, he found something sticking into his skin, and pulled it free.

It was a dart.

Though his body no longer wanted to remain upright, he still struggled with Shawn's form, managing to roll him onto his stomach and see the same type of dart jutting from his back. He wanted to pull it free, but his arms were dead, hanging like meat at his sides. And then he was slumping to the side as his bones turned to gelatin.

His eyes blinked slowly, his peripheral vision dimming as colors washed out of the room.

And as he slid towards that dark tunnel, as he turned his head drunkenly towards the open door, he thought he saw a thin dark shape entering the house…


	2. I've Been Waiting For This

Drip

Drip drip

Drip

Drip drip

The steady pat of moisture beat against his cheek. Rolling his head lethargically, he swallowed and felt the dry rasp in his throat. Something was humming… somewhere. It sounded like some sort of appliance.

Another drop _papped_ next to his eye. Tensing an arm that felt like wood, he clumsily started to move, intending to wipe the droplet away. However, his limb wasn't working right, and wouldn't rise from his side. He gave up the attempt after a few seconds. Instead, curling his lip, he sucked in a tight breath and struggled to open his eyes. His lids rose independently, gaze unfocused and rolling as he tried to steady his vision. Only one other time could he remember feeling even remotely like this- it had involved several bottles of Tevado tequila, the Policia federal preventiva, and chickens… lots and lots of chickens. And also, one tragically, less than happy, best friend. Of course, he and this best friend had made a pact that day… or rather, that night… that they would never… never speak of that event to anyone else. In fact, his friend had insisted that he try not to even 'think' of that day… and as a good pal, he wanted to honor that pact… he 'would' honor that pact because…

"Because-wha hapnz n' Mx'co… sta'z n' Mx'co…" He slurred quietly, then giggled.

"Shawn?"

His eye opened a little wider, though his vision continued to remain irritatingly blurry, as he loosely rotated his neck to peer sideways.

"Dad…?"

He thought he could make out a dim shape several feet away, but the room was quite dark, barely lit by the pale glow emanating from somewhere beyond the soles of his shoes.

"What-are you do'in n' Mx'co…?"

The shape moved a little, but didn't approach. "Just relax kid, you're not awake yet."

Okay, that had to be a hallucination- his father never was that… fatherly.

His neck was getting sore at that awkward angle, so he rolled his head back to face straight up again. As another jot of liquid struck his eye, he was reminded of why he'd moved in the first place. Deciding to stoically deal with all his various irritations in silence, Shawn tried flexing his fingers, toes, ears… anything to occupy himself as he slowly started to remember that his last trip to Mexico had been over three years ago.

In the next few minutes, he was pleased to discover that as his mind began to clear; his eyes were doing the same. He could now see the concrete ceiling above, paved with a collection of various sized pipes. It was one of the thicker pipes, obviously used for water, that was dripping on him from a poorly repaired seal.

Sensation soon started returning to his limbs… along with the nerve-twitching tingle he associated with walking on a foot that was still regaining circulation. Once more he tried to lift his arms, this time to shake away the jittery prickles, only to find it wasn't numbness that had bound them to his side, but restraints. He tried moving his legs with the same result. When he turned his head again towards where he thought he'd seen his dad, he felt the dry pull of some sort of heavy strap across his throat.

And then he remembered the shattered bowl, and his father's warning shout- seconds too late…

"Dad? Dad, where…"

"I don't know. I only woke up a few minutes before you did. Some kind of basement or cellar…"

Eyes finally picking out his father in the dimness of the room, Shawn noted that the older man was also bound, though sitting up, arms and legs lashed to a heavy chair.

"You okay?" He asked, straining slightly at the bindings around his wrists and ankles.

His father nodded, sitting stiffly, apparently having determined earlier that no amount of struggle was going to break him free. As for Shawn, that knowledge would take a bit longer for him to accept. Thunking the back of his head a couple of times against the cold surface supporting him, he methodically tugged at the straps, checked each direction for the least sign of weakness. Then he repeated the process, noting the way the leather creaked, and the light clink of metal buckles as they tapped against the cold metal table edge. He felt a small vibration just under his skin, lifting a delicate texture of chill induced bumps along his forearms. He really didn't want to give in to defeat. Maybe if he tugged a little harder…

"You're going to chafe the skin from your arms if you keep tugging like that."

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe. Or, I might loosen the straps. You might be comfortable, but my ass is going numb."

His father didn't respond. Instead, his head lifted quickly at the gentle snick of a door pushing open. Shawn stilled himself quickly, closing his eyes and listening to the soft tread moving through the room.

"Thank goodness, you're awake." Whispered a tiny voice with clear relief.

Lifting one lid, Shawn saw a slender young woman turning from his father to face him. She brushed a hand through her short dark hair, biting at her lower lip. When she noticed Shawn was awake, she hurried to his side. "Are you alright? Are you hurt at all?"

He shook his head, somewhat bewildered as the girl placed her hands on his restraints. "I can get you out, but you have to be quiet…" She kept her voice soft as she tugged at the leather strap. Shawn flexed his wrists anxiously, not able to place this feeling of disquiet as the girl fumbled with the buckle. She seemed like she couldn't make sense of the way the bindings were meant to come apart.

"Is there something you can cut it with?" He asked, his voice also soft.

She looked at him quickly, her eyes suddenly brightening at the suggestion. "Yes, of course!" Then she groaned in embarrassment. "Man, I'm such a moron…" Sticking her hand in different pockets, she finally retrieved a buck knife from the back of her jeans. Flipping it open with a solid click, she bent back over his arm. Shawn relaxed as she placed the edge of the knife against the thick leather. Though it appeared sharp, it would still take some time to saw through the heavy material…

The knife surged forward and plunged into his side. He screamed, arching his back as he tried to pull away from the blade.

_"**SHAWN! GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU BITCH!"**_

He breathed sharply as the knife pushed in a little farther, before suddenly tugging away wetly. Pinching his lips together, he released a small cry through his nose.

_"**SHAWN!"**_

His hands were locked into fists, the straps digging into the backs of his hands as he pulled fiercely. As his back dropped down onto the table again, he felt a pool of warm liquid soak through his shirt. His side burned hotly, radiating outward. Each breath cut fresh, encouraging him to inhale shallowly. Five feet away, his father had obviously forgotten that his bindings were solid as he pulled furiously. "Shawn, talk to me!"

A small noise rose from his lips uncontrollably. He couldn't speak yet…

"Never speak to her, do you understand?" He felt the blade press against his side again, near the wound, and he gasped at the dart of pain. The voice was nothing like the tentative one that had spoken earlier. This voice was harsh, violent, and shaking with rage. The knife dug in a little more, pivoting back and forth, and he ground his teeth together fearfully.

And then, suddenly, the pressure was gone. He heard deep breathing, and the sound of the knife closing. Opening his eyes slightly, he peered through his lashes, seeing the girl standing blankly next to the table. Her eyes seemed to be examining him coldly. Looking up, she raised one eyebrow clinically. "You are damaged."

The look he gave back was incredulous. Swiftly, she turned away, walking towards a metal rack against the far wall near a square sink. With her back facing away, Shawn turned his face towards his father, who was leaning as far out of his chair as he possibly could.

"Kid… Shawn… how bad is it…" His voice was hoarse, his eyes betraying his concern… his_ terror_…

Shawn didn't have time to answer as the girl was already returning. In her hands was a folded towel and what looked like a small medical kit. Stopping by his side again, she reached out and quickly pulled up his shirt.

"This will sting, I suggest you brace yourself." Her voice was calmly modulated, lacking almost all inflection. Opening the kit, she pulled out a dark bottle. "This is antiseptic, it will protect against infection." Unscrewing the cap, she poured a small amount into the towel before pressing it against the wound. Shawn growled tightly, jerking sideways, but unable to escape the pressure. After a few seconds, she lifted the towel away again, refolding it and adding another splash of antiseptic. The second application stung just as badly as the first, but Shawn forced himself to lie still, knowing anything he did might make her snap again.

Dabbing at his side, she cleaned away the seeping blood. Then, setting the towel down on the table, she closed up the bottle and retrieved a pre-filled syringe. "Antibiotics." She said before slipping it under his skin and depressing the plunger. He twitched at the slight pinch, but kept the small yelp behind his teeth. Pulling the needle free, she once more delved into the kit, this time pulling out a sewing needle.

Shawn squeezed his eyes shut.

0o0o0o0o0

It had been five minutes since the woman had closed his wound. After cleaning up the edge of the table where she'd worked, she retreated to the sink to wash her hands. She'd been there ever since- water cascading over her fingers while clouds of steam rose up around her. She seemed like she was dazed, focused on the spray as it kicked across the front of her blouse. And that whole time, his father kept his eyes locked on the girl's back, studying her intently as the hot water flowed from the faucet. His expression was odd, and not for the first time, Shawn felt that same disquieting sensation he had sensed right before the girl stabbed him.

Finally, seeming to come back to herself, the woman reached out one hand and turned off the spray. Calmly, she lifted a towel from the nearby rack and patted the backs of her hands. Sniffing, she rubbed the tip of her nose and turned, her eyes flat, and surveyed the confines of the cellar. Her expression passed over the two men bound nearby, literally not even seeing them. Nodding to herself, she draped the used towel on the edge of the sink and walked forward. Not even glancing to the side, she passed right by the two captives, and out the door- shutting it gently behind herself.

The moment she was gone, Henry turned to his son. "How bad?"

Shawn gulped, his breath shaking as he released it. "Hurts… but I suspect I'll live."

His father dropped his head to his chest, his face pale as he exhaled heavily. Still hunched, he turned his head to the side, flexing his fingers on the arms of the chair. His jaw shook as he seemed to mull over his words. Then, still not meeting Shawn's eyes, he lifted his head again. "You scared me kiddo." His voice was weak, and his fingers continually played on the chair arms.

Dropping his head back to the metal surface, Shawn closed his eyes. "I know."

For some time, the only sound was the pat, pat, pat of the faucet. Apparently it hadn't been completely turned off. His breathing finally calming, Shawn wriggled, lifting his head again and opening his eyes. His father was looking at him, some of the color back in his face. He frowned, remembering the expression his dad had worn while the girl had been by the sink.

"You know her."

Henry looked up at the ceiling for a moment, swallowing thickly. When he dropped his chin down again, he nodded. "The last time I saw her, she was nine years old." He cleared his throat, inhaling a breath that almost seemed to shake. "You never asked me why I turned in my badge."

Shawn's brows pulled together, turning a little more to study his father's face, wincing a little at the pull in his side.

His father shook his head. "Nineteen ninety-eight, March seventh, my partner and I got the call right after lunch. A young girl had been found wandering down Pedregosa, no shoes, dressed in a nightgown. When we arrived on the scene, she was sitting quietly with the woman that had found her. I left my partner to call it in, and walked over to get her name." Henry sighed. "The second she saw me she started screaming. Wouldn't let me get anywhere near her. We had to wait until the ambulance showed up before she'd calm down." He rolled his shoulder, obviously wanting to rub his hand over his face. Settling with another sigh, he continued. "A medical examination showed she had suffered physical trauma for an extended period of time. There was evidence that she'd been… that she'd been sexually assaulted. Of course, in cases like this, the first people you suspect are the parents. Kid, the second I saw her father, I knew- I _knew_ he was the guy. He wasn't even concerned about her- acted like it was all just a big game. Still, we had enough to take him to court." Henry clenched his jaw, his cheek jumping. "It took twenty minutes for the case to get thrown out. Turns out some idiot mishandled the evidence. His attorney didn't waste one second in making that the feature for his argument either. Never mind that this kid was traumatized… it didn't matter… who cared."

"Dad…"

"That night, the guy shot his wife, and then himself. The little girl, Lizbeth Garfield, ended up in foster care. A month later I turned in my shield. I just had enough. I was tired… and the look in that child's eyes… Yeah, I knew who she was… because for three years after I watched her father go back home to her again, I saw that face every time I closed my eyes. And I can't help but think I let her down."

Shawn couldn't imagine what he could say. But his father wasn't finished.

"The attorney for the father… do you remember when I mentioned I knew the DA that was shot by his son?"

Shawn's eyes widened. "That was him?"

Henry nodded. "Shawn… how sure are you it was his son that killed him?"

He frowned. "One hundred percent. Neighbors saw his son walk into the house- holding the gun. A minute later they heard the shots. Look, I wasn't kidding when I said the cops didn't need me."

Henry nodded, then wrinkled his brow. "Well then, why the hell were you there?"

Shawn rolled his head to the side. "I… sorta was playing matchmaker. Look, Gus had been eyeballing this hot forensic babe for weeks. I knew she'd be at the scene… so I just… let nature take its course."

Henry stared at him a second, then suddenly chuckled, shaking his head.

Shawn smiled as well, absently rolling his wrists. Still, it really was an odd coincidence that the DA for this girl's abusive father just happened to get murdered one week before the girl reappeared… full of large amounts of vengeance. Personally, if Shawn were in her shoes, he'd want to be the one to take out the attorney. After that, he'd probably go after the judg… "Oh my God…"

His father looked up sharply. "What?"

"The woman that was killed today… her husband was a retired Judge named…"

"Markus A. Dodge."

Shawn looked back at his father. "Let me guess… he was the Judge that presided over the Garfield case."

Henry nodded, then jerked as the door to the room slammed shut. Lizbeth stood just inside, having apparently slipped in while the two men were speaking. "So, you do remember her then… she always talked about how you sent her home to that monster. I guess I don't really have to explain why you're here."

Henry's expression stiffened as the woman stepped closer to Shawn's side. "Lizbeth… I never wanted that man to…"

"You could have shot him! You had a gun, you know what he did!" She pulled out her knife again as she shrieked, waving it wildly.

"Lizbeth, please, just…"

"I'm not Lizbeth, my name is Mae. And I made a promise to her- that everyone who was involved with allowing that Bastard to continue doing what he did… would get to feel what she had to experience for seven years! And you, Henry, you… I've watched for a very long time. I thought it'd be fun to stick the knife in you a few times, twist it around… let you bleed for a few hours… But you know… I came to realize that just wouldn't be satisfying. You're just so… _serious_… so _banal_…" She leaned against Shawn's table, turning the knife tip in her fingers. "But then… then I saw how you were with your son. You love him very much… don't you Henry? You'd do anything for him?"

Shawn glanced quickly at his father's face. Henry's expression hadn't changed… but Shawn saw the sweat on his forehead… saw a drop roll down his cheek and darken the edge of his collar.

And Lizbeth, no- Mae, saw it too. Her smile was all teeth. "Feel this _dad_!" Spinning, she buried the blade in Shawn's left leg.

_"AAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUHHH!!"_ He shrieked, agonized tears running down his cheeks.

_"**GOD- NO! STOP IT GOD DAMMIT!!"**_

Releasing the handle, she stepped away from the knife, watching as Shawn wreathed on the tabletop.

Henry actually moved the chair a few inches as he threw himself forward, his hands purple from the strain.

Panting lightly, Mae turned towards him, smiling brightly. "I'd say we found our groove, wouldn't you?" Leaving the knife where it was, she once more walked for the exit.

_"TAKE THE GOD-DAMN KNIFE OUT!"_ Henry's plea was ignored as the door shut tightly on their captor.

"Dad…" Shawn's voice, strained with anguish, panted quickly as he fought the powerful need to scream again. It hurt so much…

"Hold on kid, _God_…"

Inhaling through his nose, Shawn tried to nod… and then he felt it… a sticky heat spreading on his side.

His stitches had torn free.


	3. When I Think About You

"_Mmmm_-gguuuuhhh…."

"Slow down… try not to hold your breath…"

"That's gre—gaahh… great advice dad… but you… _uuunnnnnhh_… you don't have a four inch knife in you le… leg…" He dug his fingernails into his jeans, holding his breath again in spite of his father's admonishment. It felt as though his heart had somehow dropped to his thigh- because he could feel each beat of his pulse thudding through the muscle and halfway up his left side. And just a bit higher up from that, he could feel the slowly pooling warmth from his earlier wound. There was still pain there as well, but it currently was being eclipsed by the sharp throb caused by the thick steel buried in the meat of his quadriceps.

A tiny sob made it past his throat, and he bit down on his lips to keep the rest back. He wasn't going to start bawling now… he could be a man about this. Cowboys took way worse hits than this and got right back up on their horses… they even rode into sunsets…

He ignored the thin moist line that dragged down the side of his face. He could tough this out…

"Don't get silent on me now kid- I need to know you're still al- awake."

He heard the slip. How bad did he look anyhow? Blinking wet lashes, he rolled his head back to squint at his father. "It hurts… to talk…" he grated. When he coughed, the expelled air transformed into a drawn out keening cry.

"Shawn…" His father's voice was a soft- agonized whisper.

Returning to the clipped breaths that barely filled his lungs, Shawn closed his eyes again. He was aware that his left hand was resting in an ever widening and steady flow- easing past his pinkie finger to trickle off the table edge. The loss must be what was contributing to his feeling of weakness. He also noted that it would seriously compromise any before bedtime sit-ups for a while.

He could sense the unblinking stare emanating from his father. Growing up, he'd always hated the looks his father gave him whenever he did something that wasn't Henry sanctioned. _Surprisingly_, and heavy emphasis on the sarcastic, there were quite a few activities on his dad's no-no list. Shawn made it a point to keep track. And try every one of them. The look he got after test-driving that shopping cart down the hill behind Mrs. Finchley's house was a particularly treasured jewel. Again, insert sarcasm where appropriate.

But this expression his father wore now… it wasn't something he ever wanted to see again. Despite his measured tone, there was a sickly paleness under his eyes and in the creases by his mouth. His brows pinched up in the center, and his pupils were tiny pinpricks in a field of grey. Before turning his head, Shawn had also seen the way the flesh on his wrists had been worn red from straining… trying to break free.

By now, Shawn's body had started to shake, and he felt a chilled shiver work its way down his arms. "…t's cold…" He muttered through panting exhalations. His mouth was dry as well, and his lips felt like baked clay.

"I think you're going into shock…" said his father quietly.

"What's shock?"

Shawn's eyes opened wildly at the feminine response. How did she…

Without thinking, he tugged at his restraints as the slender figure crept into view. Her hands were bunched up around her mouth, and her bare feet made no sound as they slid over the concrete. She had changed her clothes at some point, donning a long pink nightgown that hid her shape behind plaid cotton. Sniffling a little, she bunny hopped a couple of times before her eyes traveled to the table Shawn was lying on. Then, her respiration quickening, she saw the knife gouged into his thigh.

Emitting a tiny scream, she jumped back and hugged her arms around her shoulders. "You got, you got… you got hurt!" The inflection was threaded with trembling fear- high-pitched and childlike. She spun towards Henry, half-tripping as she collapsed at his feet and clutched his leg. "He got cut didn't he…" She said shakily, looking up at Henry with wide eyes.

As for his father, Shawn was admittedly taken aback by the soft smile he gave the girl. "Yeah, he did darlin'… but he'll be just fine. But if you want to do me a big favor, you could untie me so I can fetch him a glass of water… he's been playing a long time, and he's really thirsty." Shawn blinked. Okay, where was Rod Sterling…

"I'm not supposed to… I'll get in trouble…" She actually started to sniff again as she rubbed at her eyes. Then she suddenly lit up. "I can do it! I'll get the water!"

"No, honey, wait…" His father tugged at his arms again while the young woman crawled to her feet and skipped to the sink. Shawn glanced back and forth between Lizbeth and his father, feeling his heart hammering tightly.

The girl fumbled around a moment, apparently looking for a glass. It was a fairly fruitless search however, and she chewed on her lips, thinking. Then she glanced down and clapped her hands at the sight of the coiled garden hose bunched up in the corner. "This will work great! And it always tastes better out of a hose huh…" With awkward fingers, she removed the cap from the faucet spout. Then, hauling the mass of the hose closer to the basin, she dug until she found the end and screwed it in place. Giving the handle a few quick turns, she shrieked in surprise when water stared spraying out the other end.

"Lizbeth, you don't have to…"

Ignoring Henry, she pinched the hose and stood carefully, holding it out away from her body as she walked forward. Shawn started to scoot away as she approached his side, but the wretched stab in his limb stopped him cold.

"Don't worry, it's good!" Said the girl brightly, holding the hose up to her lips and releasing a small stream into her mouth, her hand regulating the water pressure.

"Sweetheart, he's okay…" His father's voice was strained, but Shawn was blocked from seeing him by the thin body hovering by his face.

"Come on, just a little." Without waiting, she pressed the hose against his face. Just before she released the hand crimping the stiff green plastic… her eyes narrowed.

Shawn tried to twist away, but her free hand shot out and dug into his scalp as she shoved the hose between his teeth and blasted water down his throat.

_"**GUUUUKKK!!!"**_ He thrashed his body, but her hand was like a vise. Distantly he was aware that his father was roaring thunderously, but his focus at the moment was in trying not to drown. After just a few seconds, the hose pulled away.

"Kahhck… gguh…hhhuuhh… s-stop… huuhhh!!"

"But I thought you were thirsty!" She said, once more driving the metal tip against his soft palate and releasing the torrent.

_"**HHK…!!"**_ He gagged, unable to stop kicking within the limits of his restraints. Excess water cascaded over his cheeks, drenching the front of his shirt, stinging where it flowed into his eyes. Struggles weakening, he could hear her laughter even over the sound of his father's desperately bellowed threats… no, not threats… pleading… Henry was pleading…

And abruptly she stopped, dropping the hose by her feet where it looped around, whicking a line of wetness along the pitted surface below. Leaving the water to spread pond-like across the floor, leaving Shawn to choke out wheezing and strangled gasps of mingled breathlessness and pain, she swayed to Henry's side.

"Now, big man, how can you bargain when you call me names like that?" She asked smoothly.

Coughing hoarsely, Shawn stretched as best as he could to see what she was doing. She had stopped in front of the older man, her hands raised to her chest. Her wrists were moving slightly as she haltingly started to drag her fingers down her front. It was obvious what she was doing, and Shawn felt a coil of revulsion. Apparently his father did too as his head turned away. She simply giggled, sidling closer until she was standing between his knees. Reaching out a hand, she placed it against his cheek, only to have him wrench away.

"Oh… don't be like that baby… I have a feeling it's been a long time for both of us." She cooed, bending her knees to sit in his lap. She moved her hands to his chest, fiddling with the buttons.

"Cut it out!" Yelled Shawn roughly.

Both she and Henry turned to face him. "Shawn…" Started his father warningly… his eyes dark and angry.

Lizbeth just smiled, turning back to the other man. "He gets his looks from you… but I'm guessing his hair came from his mother right?" At her words, she stroked the short follicles on Henry's scalp. Turning away again, Henry ground his teeth together.

"Lady, you really suck at seduction."

That obviously touched a nerve, because she immediately slapped his face- hand striking cheek with a sharp crack. Sliding off his leg, she leaned in close- placing her lips against his earlobe. "So what's your problem huh? Bare breasts don't really fly your kite? I should have guessed there was a reason you ended up divorced… Tuesday evening specials just don't have the same charm when you've stuck your hand on a different cookie jar. Tell me, how old was he when you took him the first time?"

Both Shawn and Henry whipped their eyes to her face, twin exclamations rising between them. "WHAT!?"

She stepped back from the older man, tilting her head to peer back at Shawn again. "I really can't blame you… he is… tasty."

"Keep away from him... I'm sorry for what you experienced as a child, but if you hurt him again, I'll kill you." His voice trembled with rage… and his fingers tightened until the knuckles were white.

She simply giggled again. "That's so sweet! Oh, I have no intention of hurting him." She turned completely around, walking back towards the metal table. "I just want to make him feel better."

"Get away from him!!"

Shawn cringed as she approached on his right side. His chest ached from his earlier battle with the water… and his leg and side both throbbed furiously. However, none of that meant anything in light of this new development. He gasped as her hand stretched out to touch his belly, sliding under his shirt to stroke across the top of his jeans. The other hand soon joined the first, working the buttons of the checkered shirt free with methodical intent.

"Stop it!" Shouted Henry, struggling again in his chair.

She ignored the repeated yells as she leaned over him, her untied nightgown gapping to reveal the tops of her breasts. Shawn looked away quickly, but couldn't help the flush that rose on his cheeks. Pulling apart the garment, she dropped her head and trailed light kisses from his bellybutton to the base of his sternum.

"Don't…" Shawn gasped softly.

Her breath puffed against his ribs as she laughed soundlessly. Behind her, Henry had moved on to inarticulate growls as his jerked back and forth. Sighing, the woman- not Lizbeth any longer- turned her head to look behind herself. "You know, you're really spoiling the mood Henry. You don't want to do that." Quickly, she reached out and yanked the knife from Shawn's leg.

He screamed raggedly, bending his knees and twisting his hips away from the woman. The movement stretched his other wound, and he wept chokingly at the oscillating _hurt_.

"Damn you _**BITCH!**_"

Setting the knife on the table near Shawn's right leg, she faced away from the yelling man in the chair. Instead, she reached out and cupped the side of Shawn's face with one hand, allowing the other one to rub up and down his chest. "Shh, shh, shh… it's okay… it will stop hurting soon… don't worry honey… I know what I'm doing… you know I love you don't you?"

Shawn looked at her quickly, stray tears still working out of the corners of his eyes. Her own eyes were unfocused… not even looking at him as her thumb brushed over the top of his cheek. And what she said… the way she said it…

"Just be good… don't be too loud of Mommy might hear okay? It's just like we did before…"

_"**STOP IT!!"**_ His father's continuous raging had just become so much background noise as the woman pressed her fingers against his chest again, massaging lightly and bringing up goosebumps. Then he arched his back in shock as her hand suddenly slid lower.

"Nnnnuuh! No… _stop, stop_…" he bit his lip as she pressed her palm against him, feeling nauseous with shame at the responding flutter in his gut.

"I'd never hurt you sweetheart…"

_"**LIZBETH! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING! THAT'S BAD!!"**_

She jerked back in panic at the sudden change in tone from the man at her back. Her hands shook, and as she raised them before her again, her nostrils flared. Glanced down, she stared at the blood coating her fingertips. With a horrified cry, she whipped her head around to see Henry glaring her down.

"You get to your room right now young lady!" He said fiercely, his hands clenched on the heavy wood beneath his palms.

Howling, Lizbeth turned and fled, knocking against the knife with her hip as she went, sending it clattering to the floor where the water from the hose still spread- collecting around the shallow drain.

With the girl gone, Shawn slumped to the table, shaking with fresh tremors.

"God…" Said Henry weakly. "You oka…"

"Don't…" Said Shawn with a tremulous voice, wishing he could roll on his side. He felt mortified… sickened that his father got a front row seat to… _that_. He'd never felt such humiliation. Why… why'd he let her do that… how could he let himself feel… _what was wrong with him_…?

Breathing through his nose, he battled the thumping beat tapping against his sinuses. But what she'd wanted to do… and the idea that his dad would see it… and the fact that he'd…

The first tears disappeared into his hairline. Turning his face away from his father, he couldn't stop the ones that followed. His whole body ached as his breath came out in staggered spurts and sharp whimpers. He hated how he'd jumped at her touch… how he'd let her touch him… he could have fought harder- he could have bit her hand when she touched his face… or spit… or… anything! He'd just… instead he'd just… and when her hand pressed against him…

His throat felt raw, but he couldn't stop… it just kept pouring out of him…

"Shawn…" His father's rough entreaty was heavy, nasal… and unlike anything he'd ever heard directed at himself. Chest hitching, Shawn turned his head back around again… and saw something shining on his father's face.

"Dad…"

Raising his brows, apparently denying anything was different, Henry stared solidly forward. "Do I ever lie to you son?"

"What…"

"Do I ever lie Shawn? Have I ever lied?"

Blinking rapidly, Shawn shook his head. "No…"

"I promise you kid… whatever I have to do… I will get you out of this. I _promise_ you that. Do you understand?"

Shawn's eyes followed the path that single tear made as it vanished beneath his father's chin. Looking back up into the other man's eyes, he swallowed back his own pain and degradation.

"Yeah." He whispered.


	4. Darkness Falls

The carpet had been vacuumed recently, but the rough fibers were too tightly packed to offer up any reliable footprints. Pushing himself up from his knees, bracing one hand against the wall, Detective Lassiter nodded to the officer standing nearby. "There's a dart buried in the molding, have CSU get a shot of that, then bag it." The officer nodded, heading outside towards the sound of a camera flash.

Stepping gingerly past the crawling forensic techs, O'Hara approached her partner with her cell phone in hand. "That was the Chief. She just left Gus's house… he hasn't seen Shawn since four pm yesterday when he left for a date. He said Shawn was having dinner with Henry last night."

Lassiter nodded. That bit of news wasn't unknown to them. Judging from the level of beer in the two bottles on the porch, they'd likely finished eating around seven-thirty give or take- headed for the deck to share a few, then been interrupted… probably by the bowl shattering inside. The dart was a somewhat positive sign, meaning their kidnapper or kidnappers planned to keep them alive. The down side was that there hadn't been any ransom demands of any kind. That either meant they were waiting, letting the cops stew for a bit… or they wanted the two captives for something other than money. The alternatives were unpleasant to contemplate.

"How's Gus handling it?" Asked Lassiter, glancing towards his partner.

O'Hara lifted one shoulder, letting her eyes travel around the room, tightening on the dart being pried from the wall. "He's scared." Her mouth hung open for a second longer, breath passing over her teeth. Then she closed it tightly, lifting her head up to stare up at him stiffly. "I'll take the dart in, I'm guessing they'll want to process it right away."

"Listen, O'Hara…" he reached out a hand, but stopped short of placing it on her shoulder. Instead, as she turned back, he slid it into his pocket. "Look, I know Spencer is your friend… this is going to be tough- and that's okay. You'll do just fine; you just need to think of it as another crime scene."

Her eyes darkened as she tilted her head a bit to the side. "Will you… can you do that Carlton?" Without waiting for his answer, she snatched the bagged dart from the officer near the door and walked out.

Both hands in his pockets now, Lassiter tipped his head back for a moment, eyes closed. _Dammit Spencer…_ Well it wasn't as if the guy was _his_ friend after all. In fact, he hardly qualified as an acquaintance. Dropped his head back, he pulled out his hands and rolled his shoulders.

"Okay people, listen up, these guys are some of ours, so no cutting corners! I want every inch of this place documented or so help me God, I'll feed you to McNabb's cat- understood?" Sharp nods all around. Lips thin in approval, Lassiter grabbed the phone from his hip. The Chief would want to know about the dart.

0o0o0o0o0

Henry woke slowly, blinking away the heavy effects of the sedative coursing through him. Unthinkingly, he lifted his hand to wipe at his eyes- and paused in shock. He wasn't restrained to the chair any longer. He looked up sharply to see Lizbeth… or was it Mae this time… standing by the table bearing his son.

"You will feel some stiffness when you stand- that is normal."

Cool, distant, emotionless. That could only mean 'doc' was back in control. She gestured with one hand. "There is a bathroom just behind you. You are no doubt in need of it at this point. Once you return, I'll allow your son to go, and then I'll tend to his injuries."

"Why do this?" He asked softly, his voice scratching after going without water. "I mean, obviously you're concerned about our health… and that medical kit of yours can't have everything you need to offer the right treatment…" he looked at her steadily, his voice carefully modulated. "Let the boy go. Let him go, and I'll stay here."

"Dad!"

"Quiet Shawn." He didn't look away from the woman, nor did he raise his voice. "You don't need him. He's just a burden to you. Let him go…" the tiniest shake in his voice made him clip the end of his sentence abruptly.

Doc lifted an eyebrow. "You really don't understand at all, do you. I don't care whether or not he gets the proper treatment. The only reason I'm not letting him bleed all over is because of Lizbeth. She's frightened of blood, and she's been through more than enough as it is. Mae and I made a pact to do whatever we could to protect her… and to get vengeance for her. I let Mae handle the…'sessions'… and I clean up after her. But don't fool yourself into thinking any part of this is compassion."

Reaching beside herself, she brought out the knife that she'd obviously retrieved from the floor. "You have five minutes, starting when you enter the bathroom." Leaning slightly to the side, she pressed the tip of the blade into Shawn's inner thigh, drawing a sharp inhalation as it bit slightly into his flesh. "If you do not return in that time, or if you attempt any subterfuge, I will press harder. It will not take long to bleed out."

Nodding, Henry pushed himself painfully from the solid surface. His back was screaming at him, and his legs felt disconnected from the rest of his body as he staggered in the direction indicated. The door to the bathroom was half-hidden in shadow, but he found it easily enough. Once inside, he quickly scanned the room for anything useful. It didn't take long to find there wasn't a single item in the small square room that would help him, or Shawn. The only things visible were a stool and a roll of toilet paper. There wasn't even a mirror above the sink. Feeling the seconds ticking heavily, he decided to take care of at least one need. He eyed the water dripping from the faucet into the stained white porcelain. Okay, make that two needs.

0o0o0o0o0

Henry re-emerged from the bathroom in under three minutes, wiping the stray drops of water from his lips. Without speaking, Doc pointed to the chair with her free hand. Sighing, Henry hesitated for just the barest second. It was enough, though, and Doc pressed the knife a little deeper.

_"**GNUH!"**_

"Stop, stop… I'm sitting!" He said quickly, dropping back to the solid surface. His back still felt numb, and immediately began to throb as soon as he was settled.

"Attach your leg restraints, and then you right wrist."

Aware of the blade digging into Shawn's leg, he swiftly reached down, muscles straining, to carry out her instructions. Then, pushing with his hands on his knees, he straightened again and looped the stiff leather over his arm, buckling it into place. Only then did Doc pull the knife away, grabbing a nearby towel to wipe the tip.

"I am going to restrain your other arm. Resist in any way, and I will kill your son."

Keeping perfectly still, Henry looked back toward the table as the buckle was pulled tight over his left wrist. She then proceeded to recheck the other bindings as well, pulling them tighter- but not enough to cut into his flesh. While she worked, Henry studied his son's face. His skin had grown pale, his eyes dry and listless as he stared towards the far corner of the room. The bleeding from his side had finally stopped again, as had the puncture in his upper thigh. Still, he looked like an excellent candidate for the ER. Looking back down at the top of Doc's head, he spoke carefully.

"After you've treated him, he needs food. His body will need all the energy it can produce in order to restore the blood he's lost. As a doctor, I know you understand that."

She looked up at him, seeming to consider his words. Finally she dipped her head. "It can be considered. I know Mae was somewhat disappointed in his lack of energy earlier."

Breath tight, Henry didn't speak again as she straightened and returned to Shawn's side. "I'm going to remove your bindings. You are damaged, and if you resist me, I will easily be able to overpower you. Afterward, I will cut your father's throat. Do you understand?"

Shawn nodded. Bending over him, Doc worked his right hand free, then stepped back until she was next to Henry's chair. He felt the blade tickle under his chin, but made no move to pull away.

"Remove the rest of your bindings. There is a small stepstool next to the table; you may use it to climb down."

It took some time for his son to work himself free from the table. By the time he was done, he was breathing heavily and clutching at his side. Doc allowed him a few seconds to gather himself, then pressed the blade a little closer. "You have five minutes. If you feel you might have difficulty, I will assist you."

Shawn's eyes widened a bit, and he hunched his shoulders. "I'll be fine." He said hoarsely. Sliding to the edge of the table, he eased his feet down to the short stool below. His arms shook as he clutched the metal surface, and when he started to step away, he nearly fell. Doc merely waited, watching his progress as he limped badly across the wet floor, one arm held out for balanced while the other remained pressed against his side.

It was just a little over four and a half minutes when Shawn returned. Henry was relieved to see the droplets of water on his son's chin.

"Return to the table, and attach you ankles and right hand." Said Doc in the same monotonous tone that she'd used to direct Henry.

Without pause, Shawn carried out her instructions, though it was awkward and threaded with small grunts of pain. Only after he was completely flat did the woman step away from Henry's side again, shutting the knife and dropping it into her pocket as she approached Shawn's left side. Quickly, she attached the final restraint and checked the others. Finally, satisfied, she leaned to the side and grabbed the medical kit. "You are bleeding again. I will close the wounds, but I recommend you try to remain stationary in order to heal."

She dealt with the side wound first, ignoring the small yelps as the needle bit through the reddened flesh to pull the edges together. Afterward, she applied a cloth soaked in iodine, taping it against the pale skin beneath.

Shawn's chest was heaving by the time she finished and stepped away. Without pause, she placed a hand on his leg, holding it still as he trembled- though from her touch or from pain, Henry wasn't certain. Grasping the edges of the torn fabric, she ripped the opening wide to expose the deep gouge beneath. Once more, she cleaned and disinfected the area, preparing it for her battlefield surgery. Shawn seemed to be struggling fiercely for control, but by the time she made the third stitch, he was groaning and biting into his lip.

This wound took longer to close; and when she finally snapped shut the kit, both Henry and Shawn were sweating out the little bit of water they'd managed to ingest.

"I will bring you some food now. Try not to move." At that, she walked from the room. Listening closely, Henry could hear her steady tread as she vanished through the door and ascended a flight of stairs. About halfway up, though, her footsteps disappeared. There was no creak from overhead floorboards, no sounds of doors opening and shutting… nothing. From the look of the room, this wasn't a new house. That must mean she'd soundproofed this room at some point. This also meant she'd truly planned out this entire thing a long time ago. And, Henry knew, it meant she probably wouldn't stop.

0o0o0o0o0

He loathed her touch, but endured it in order to finish the sandwich she fed him. She'd removed the restraint from his neck so that he could eat properly, though it put some strain on his shoulders and back in spite of the small hand braced against his spine. Chewing the last bite, he flinched slightly when she raised a glass of water.

"I will not harm you- drink." She pressed the rim against his lips, and he gulped it down greedily. Once the glass was empty, she set it on the edge of the table and eased him back down on the surface, reattaching the strap across his throat.

"What about my dad?"

She raised one eyebrow. "I was not instructed to feed him."

"Please… please, I'm sure he could use something to eat too…"

She smiled, her shoulders shrugging as she stared down at him. "Maybe… how bad do you want it? Will you trade for it?"

Shawn's breath puffed out at the sudden shift in her voice and stance. _No…_

"Really, I don't know why you even care about him. From what I know, he was a terrible father." Her hand brushed against his side, close to the stitches, and he jerked his shoulders in revulsion.

"Anyway, I don't want to talk about him… I've got much more entertaining thoughts I want to discuss." Her hand trailed down to his leg, curling around to press against the small nick she'd made earlier.

"Guhh- stop it!"

_"**HEY!"**_

Ignoring both men, she pressed her hands on the table edge and hopped up, coming to a rest on the small lip at Shawn's side. Turning her hips, she brought up her legs and slid over his waist to straddle him. Gasping at the pressure her weight put on his side, Shawn pulled away as much as possible as she leaned down and breathed against his neck. "What do you say- you ready for round two?"

Without waiting for a response, she slid agonizingly down his body until she was gripping her knees around his calves. Dropping her hands to his waist, she ignored his protests as she worked loose the button and slid his zipper down. "This is going to be great… why not just relax? Come on, there is no way this is your first time!"

_"**GET OFF OF HIM!! LIZBETH- STOP THIS!!"**_

She giggled. "Sorry dad, Lizzy isn't home tonight. It's just me now… and I was promised some fun!" Her fingers groped as she grinned widely, and Shawn felt, with that same black sickness, his body tighten in response.

"Please don't… please… please…" He hated the trembled begging, hated how quickly he was reduced to this terrified state… hated the way he burned with a twisted blend of debasement and revolting desire.

"I can tell you want this…"

_"**STOP IT!!!"**_

"I know it feels good…"

_"**LIZBETH!!"**_

"All men want it…"

She had that dreamy stare again, eyes focused on him while her hands… her hands… wouldn't… stop…

"Please… get… off…"

_"**LIZBETH!!"**_

"I'd never hurt you baby…" She whispered, one hand sliding up to drag fingernails across his midsection.

_"**STOP IT!!! GOD….STOP IT!!!**_

"Plea… please… d-don't…" Shawn tried to roll to the side, tried to throw her off, but her legs gripped him tightly, and his movements were too restricted. He gasped roughly between the spaces in his teeth- mindless of the tears that ran steadily down his face- mindless of his father's screams, mindless of everything but that hands that wouldn't let go… that wouldn't quit touching him… that wouldn't…

As she pressed her palms against him, his vision darkened, and he ground out a thick growl, his hips jerking sharply. Then, dropping to the table surface, he turned his face away and choked in silent disgrace.

Mae, meanwhile, laughed in glee as she sat up straighter, half rotating to the side. "What do you think daddy- want to give it another go? Shawn'll tell you how good it is, won't you babe!" Turning back around, she draped her body across him and laced her fingers together over his panting chest. "I knew you'd like it… men are all the same…"

He wanted nothing more than to step in front of a bus.

As she slid from his body, carefully avoiding the damaged left leg, she brushed off her jeans. "Next time, maybe we can share that experience a little more… intimately." Leaning over, she pressed a kiss against his cheek.

_"**GET AWAY FROM ME!!"**_ He cried, lurching away as far as he could and rocking his head to the side.

0o0o0o0

Henry thought his arms would break from the strain of pulling at the leather straps. His voice was ragged by the time Mae slid from Shawn's body. When his son screamed at her attempt at a kiss, he felt his heart shatter.

"You… fucking… _**bitch**_!" He rasped with a voice like scorched earth. Never, never had he used language like that in front of his son… and never towards a woman. But right now, watching his broken child shaking and crying ten feet away, he couldn't think beyond his desire to snap her neck in three places.

"I had a good time… we will definitely… definitely have to do this again." She said brightly, flipping her short bob and walking from the room.

Ignoring her exit, ignoring the filth that passed as words when she strode by, Henry stared at his humiliated son. He wanted to fix it… soothe it away somehow. Like when Shawn was little… and all it took was little pat, a few words, a little time discussing how to avoid such things in the future…

But how could he fix this? How could he erase it… How could he comfort away a devastated heart… a fragmented spirit?

_"….dad… dad…"_ The tiny whispers fluttered, high-pitched and pleading, between the shuddering gasps and gulped tears.

"Shawn…" his own response was liquid, staggering and wretched in a single word.

_"…please don't let… please don't… muuhh... please… dad…"_ his voice tapered off as he tried to roll to his side, failing with a tug of leather. His shoulders wouldn't stop shaking- and he wouldn't look in Henry's direction.

His chest felt like it was caving as Shawn melted into shattered sobs. Tugging fiercely again, Henry felt his own tears running unchecked down his coarse face. "I'm here kid… I'm here… I'm here…"

Over and over he whispered the soft litany… knowing there was nothing else he could do… nothing else he could promise… nothing else he could offer that would help.

Nothing short of getting them out.

But regardless of anything else… regardless if they escaped… regardless if he had to sell himself to accomplish it, he'd make sure Mae never touched his son again.


	5. Breaking

His choked breaths had finally subsided as he faded into unconsciousness. Bone-deep fatigue brought on by both physical and emotional exertions had sapped his reserves and hung a tidy 'do not disturb' sign over his slumped form. Still, it wasn't a peaceful rest. His slow respirations were frequently broken by sharp, hitching gasps that shuddered up his chest before releasing in a soft breath. Henry realized that even sleep wasn't enough to take away his sorrow.

As for the older man, his eyes felt raw, like they were packed with sand. And his throat ached from holding back his own grief; a familiar practice- but never for something so… devastating.

Minutes ticked past on his internal clock. Only gradually did he become aware of the slowly building pain in his arms. Looking down, he couldn't see anything different aside from the badly chafed redness where the restraints had removed several layers of skin. However, when he rotated his arms, the pang flared deeply along the muscles of his forearms and in the creases beneath his biceps. Recognizing the soreness for what it was, he realized he must have pulled something earlier… when Mae…

Shawn's arm twitched sharply, and he breathed a wordless whine before stilling again. Forgetting his own discomfort, Henry sighed and looked down at his hands. He had to get his son out of here… he had to. He may have pretended at not being a father for a few years, but now… now that he'd finally and completely reinserted himself back into Shawn's life… he couldn't fail him.

And he couldn't afford to get weak waiting for rescue.

Starting with his calf muscles, he began flexing the stiffened flesh, tightening and releasing until he felt himself loosening bit by bit. Forced to remain in this upright position for so long, his body rebelled against the small movements. Still, if he was given any opportunity… any opening at all…

His calisthenetics soon progressed up his thighs to his torso, and as he tightened and released his abdominals, he felt the pinch of emptiness in his gut. It used to be he was capable of going for over two days without needing to stop for even a danish- back when he was still a cop and hot on a case. However, in the years since his retirement, he'd grown too used to regular meals. Even now, the thought of a simple sandwich had his stomach rumbling painfully.

Then his eyes rose to his son again, and the hunger fled- replaced instantly by nausea.

He couldn't… even after watching it happen… accept what had taken place less than an hour ago. As a cop, every day had been a series of everyone else's bad days. For some, it was the worst days they'd ever have. But at night he'd go home, and… regardless of what he'd seen… he'd made sure to shed those days from his mind before walking through the door. He'd prided himself on his objectivity… and managed to raise a son with the same sensibilities. And it was easy when it was just another case… just another suspect… just another report… Just another victim.

_"…please don't let… please don't…" __  
_

He barely noticed the heat beneath his lids. He'd known… he'd known the second she didn't cringe from his voice… what would happen. And for an instant, a brief second when her body had shifted to the side… he'd seen that knowledge reflected in Shawn's eyes.

But worse… far, far worse… he'd seen the moment those eyes had shuttered closed… and lost any sign of hope.

And Henry didn't know how he could live with that. For Shawn to be without the ever-present neon glow… that brilliant quirky joy… it was the same as death.

0o0o0o0o0

Carlton pulled the phone to his ear as he navigated the mid-afternoon traffic.

"Lassiter."

_"Detective, it's McNabb- I just got the forensics back in the bullet."_

His brain seemed to lock, confusion pinching his face as he wove around a backing delivery truck.

"I'm sorry, would you like to clarify that for me officer?" He asked stiffly- pouring just the littlest bit of impatience through the speaker of his cell. He literally heard the other man swallow.

_"Yes sir, sorry- the bullet from the Dodge shooting… the Judge's wife?"_

Lassiter nodded, then sighed in irritation. "Go on…"

_"It was from a Luger P08… World War Two era… a real vintage…"_

"McNabb…"

_"Sorry…"_ the other man cleared his throat, but his enthusiasm still bled through. _"We ascertained that the Judge himself owned this same pistol… his Grandfather carried it when he was stationed in Germany. Sir, the bullet matched, and his prints were the only ones on that weapon."_

"Wait… are you telling me the Judge killed his wife? Are you certain about this?"

_"Positive sir. The Judge even admitted it when they went to pick him up… though, and this was strange, he said he didn't remember doing it until now. But he did say… he said he remembered that, after he shot his wife, he put the muzzle against his head and pulled the trigger- but the pistol jammed."_

Lassiter's foot inadvertently pressed against the brake, eliciting several horn blasts as driver's swerved around him, some with curses until they caught sight of the small light resting on his dash.

"Officer, are you telling me… are you saying this was supposed to be a murder-suicide?"

_"It looks that way sir."_

One he could accept- more than that if they were spread far enough apart. But two- within a week of each other… and both involving administrators of the law… He breathed in sharply. And now an officer and his son were missing.

"McNabb, I want Judge Dodge in interrogation room one- nobody talks to him until I get there, understood?"

_"Yes sir…"_

"Any word on the dart from the Spencer investigation?"

_"O'Hara says they just printed it now, they managed to lift a partial thumb…"_

"I want an identification ASAP- have the report on my desk by the time I get there!"

Without waiting for a response, he snapped the phone shut and cut back into traffic, ignoring the three inches of space as his bumper dusted past the overloaded Buick in the left lane.

0o0o0o0o0

"Is he okay?"

Henry jumped sharply- hating how she somehow always managed to creep up on him on silent steps.

"You stay away from him!" He growled menacingly- darkly satisfied to see her face pale as she stumbled back, tripping over her nightgown to land on her backside. Shawn's fingertips lifted slightly, but- thank God- he remained asleep.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" murmured the girl, pulling her knees up tightly and clasping her arms around her legs.

Henry was deeply shocked to see tears pour down her cheeks as she began to cry silently, rocking back and forth as she stared towards the man on the table.

"I don't want… I never want… but they make me… and I can't… I can't… I can't…" She buried her face between her cupped hands and wailed. Pushing herself blindly to her feet, she pivoted and raced from the room again, her cries cutting off with the solid closing of the door.

Henry stared after her, his jaw slack with horror. "My God…" he whispered. "She knows…"

0o0o0o0o0

Heels cracked across the polished floor as Lassiter clomped to his desk. At the moment, Judge Shoot First and Ask Questions Later was getting his mug-shot added to the vast collection on file. If it wasn't for the fact that the psychic and his father were currently persona kid-napp-ed, he'd claim the piling evidence of this case as Spencer-worthy.

Only ten minutes in the box with the Judge. He hadn't even needed to adjust his tie for maximum intimidation. The guy had practically babbled out the story, dissolving into miserable weeping when he reached the end.

Allowing the station mascot-in-blue to shoulder the crumbling man to central booking, Lassiter exited to hunt up his partner… soon to be ex-partner if she wasn't holding a file containing the fingerprint identification of the person who'd handled the dart- plus a large coffee. Two sugars and one cream… he was trying to cut back.

One look at her subdued yet still overly-proud-of-herself-and-still-smug-cause-I-scored-higher-than-you-on-the-detective's-exam expression, and he nearly bit through his own tongue in an effort not to say something that would likely find him dropped on the floor and clutching a pair of his most prized possessions. And no, not his handcuffs.

"Andrew George Fender. Also known as, victim number two in last week's murder-suicide." Said O'Hara, passing over the file.

"No way…" Said Lassiter, opening the brown folder while blindly grasping the coffee in his free hand. Reading over the details, he furrowed his brow. "Says here he worked at the Santa Barbara Zoo in the big cats exhibit… explains how he had access to a dart gun…" Resting his hip on the edge of the desk, he took a sip of his coffee, sputtering when the liquid scalded his tongue. "Ahh… dammit!" He spit, thrusting the cup back at O'Hara who merely gave him a long-suffering look.

"We need to re-interview everyone who knew him. I'll take the mom, you hunt up his girlfriend… Doctor Bethany Gardner." He said, scanning through the file once more.

O'Hara nodded, starting to turn before pausing, the shining façade slipping a little. "Carlton."

He looked away, flicking the fingers of one hand against the folder still clutched tightly in his grasp. "We'll find them O'Hara." Glancing back, he caught the small nod before she turned away.

Grabbing his cooling coffee, Lassiter fished his keys from his pocket and headed for the parking lot.

0o0o0o0o0

The dark haired woman leaned close, near enough that Henry could smell the traces of fluoride and mint beneath the bitter tang of coffee. Though he was repelled by her presence, he didn't move as she pressed up against him.

"I know it's hard for you to accept that I am in control of what happens here. But, and I am only warning you once… do not interrupt me… don't speak, whisper, or even breathe loudly. If you do… I'll put my knife between his ribs, and let you count the minutes until he bleeds to death."

She pulled away a bit, then ran her hand along his jaw. "Shawn and I need some alone time. You can watch, but no cat calls from the cheap seats, kay pop?"

His lips moved soundlessly as she walked towards the table, pulling her shirt over her head. Beyond her, Shawn faced away, his muscles bunched and his hands clenched in tight fists. Though he couldn't see his eyes, Henry could see his jaw working furiously as he tried to control himself. Breath hissing rapidly, Henry strained at his bindings as the monstrous act- which he'd vowed would not happen again, began to play out once more. However, this time, there was an adjustment to the script.

"You miss me baby?"

Shawn started trying to pull away- useless… but that didn't stop him from wrenching sideways until the veins in his arms bulged.

"Why not ask daddy to help you?"

Henry gasped, tightening his lips furiously at this sick manipulation.

"Come on Shawn… I promise you, if you beg… and he answers… I'll let you go… I swear it…" Her hand traced across his leg, skitted across his groin, and pressed against his belly.

"….don't… don't touch me…"

She laid her head against his side, toying with the flap of his shirt. "But I thought you liked it when I touched you… you seemed like you enjoyed it immensely. In fact… it made me jealous." Sitting up, she worked loose her jeans and slipped them over her hips to pile on the floor; bending down briefly to retrieve the knife from her pocket. "I think it's about time I got a little payback for my efforts, don't you?"

His breath panting violently now, Shawn could only manage small whines as she draped herself over his torso again, the knife in her left hand tickling over his chest.

"You sure you don't want daddy to help? I could call him for you…" Leaning back, turning her head to the side, she raised her voice. "What do you say Henry, should I leave your sweet boy alone?"

Henry could see the knife spinning on one side, and his anguished son's eyes on the other… eyes that grew desperate when didn't speak.

"Ah… too bad. Guess daddy doesn't think you had enough fun before."

"No… he wou… he can't… you have a knife…"

She chuckled at his observation, holding the knife between both hands. "So… does it really make a difference? You think pointing that out earns you a gold star?" Her hand delved between their bodies, and Shawn gasped harshly, never ceasing to pull his leather bound wrists. "I'm bored with the one-sided act… and I'm sure your father is too." She unhooked the clasps of her bra, shrugging out of the garment and tossing it to the floor. "It's my turn now."

Henry shook his head, knowing he couldn't watch this… couldn't handle this final, complete violation… knowing if he spoke, Shawn would…

_"I don't want… I never want… but they make me…"_

**"MAE!"**

"You were warned Daddy!! Trust me, I can do him bleeding as well as whole!"

**"Just listen to me, Lizbeth is here- she's aware of what's happening…"**

Mae turned, the tip of the knife hovering near Shawn's third rib.

"Impossible… Lizbeth doesn't even know about me… about either of us…"

"But she does," said Henry gently… keeping his voice soft. He looked at Shawn's frozen face, hazel eyes flicking from the knife to his own face and back again.

Returning his gaze to the vacillating expression of the woman pinning his son, his voice shook when he spoke again.

"If you do this, you'll be raping her too."


	6. Scattered Pieces

The glinting point tapped reflexively against his side with every delicate inhalation, a tiny, pinprick reminder that his survival was yet to be decided. For nearly a minute, she seemed to consider his father's words, slowly turning back to face the man beneath her. As for Shawn, he kept his eyes solidly averted, trying not to feel the hand that refused to stop tracing up and down his exposed chest. When she curled that hand, pressing her nails into his flesh, he squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath.

"I think you're lying…"

"Would you take that chance?" The other man's words overrode hers as though expecting the response. Actually, he probably had. Still, the nails kept moving, grazing across his navel, pausing near his waist.

Shifting, Mae straightened her back, pulling the knife tip away. "No… I wouldn't." And without pause, she flipped her legs from Shawn's body and dropped to the floor. Still resolutely facing away, Shawn flinched when her lips brushed against his ear, her empty hand unerringly sliding to the inside of his leg. "I might not get to enjoy you… but don't think that means you're free." She whispered hissingly. "Ask yourself this. Knowing my determination… armed with some PCP… and that wonderful little blue pill… how long do you suppose it would take before I forced daddy into taking my place. Especially if it was a choice between that or your life?"

His brain read the lie… knew it was just more of the same vile manipulation as an outlet for being denied- but apparently his body hadn't been informed as he suddenly lurched to the side and vomited brutally over the rim of the table.

"SHAWN! What'd you say to him…!!"

Trembling furiously, he continued to choke weakly, regurgitating through the convulsive twisting in his gut while Mae hovered on his other side, her hand still gripping him tightly.

"Shawn!"

Another tremor passed through his midsection, and helplessly he emptied the remnants of his stomach a third time, panting achingly at the acidic burn in the back of his throat.

Mae's fingers brushed over his moist scalp, threading through his hair as she cooed softly. "That's my good boy."

Then, mercifully, she stepped away. "Keep in mind… Eventually… all fathers betray their children."

She took two steps, then paused again.

"I'll be back in a while… we'll see if you're up to some more fun then." Shawn heard her collect her scattered clothing, heard the light splash of her bare feet slapping through the water, and finally, heard the door close with a solid click.

He gagged a few more times, fighting away the dry heaves cutting through his intestines.

"God kid…"

His chest jerked as his panting breaths turned into pained sobs. "I c-can't… I ca…can't take an-anymore… no more…" he stuttered, clenching his hands against his legs, his lungs pumping rapidly as he started tugging at the straps again, ignoring the acute bite when they started to cut into his wrists.

"Shawn! Shawn! Listen to me!"

He couldn't tolerate hearing his father's voice right now… not when all he could picture in his mind was the taunting threat left there like a cancer. He panted faster, trying to force it away… trying to force her touch out of his mind… the suggestion in her parting words… And then, suddenly, he couldn't control his respirations any longer. His eyes blurred as he squeezed them shut, feeling panic constrict him. Air fired through his gaping lips, and he couldn't stop the sharp moans that came with his blinding fear. His head was throbbing, and it felt like something cold was writhing down his back. Choking out another sob, he wondered if people could really die from terror.

"SHAWN HENRY SPENCER- LISTEN TO ME!"

Still gaping painfully, he opened his eyes again, staring frantically through the tortured whimpers ripping from his lungs.

"You have to calm down…"

"I ca-I ca-I can't…" he forced jerkily, his chest beginning to ache from his manic gasping.

"Shawn… please kid, you have to slow down!"

Wheezing, Shawn desperately rolled his head back, shaking with the effort to stop the uncontrollable inhalations. It hurt, horribly… and he couldn't stop it… couldn't prevent the excruciating bands from tightening to the point of suffocation…

"Guuhhh!" He sawed his wrists against the restraints, clenching his teeth to force his body to obey him… refusing to let it betray him again.

"You're doing okay… that's good… that's good…"

Slowly, chest still heaving, he felt himself gradually start gaining the upper hand. His vision weaved slightly as he blinked at the ceiling, smearing when another drop of water from the overhead pipe patted against his cornea.

Within another couple of minutes, shuddering from the after effects of the attack, he was finally able to slide flat, falling limp against the smooth metal. But even though his breathing was nearly normal again, it wasn't without cost. He ached fiercely all over, and his midsection felt like it was being crushed beneath a car tire. Facing away from the spattered edge of the table where he'd voided his earlier meal, he found himself looking at his father. He wasn't sure if that was really the better view.

"Shawn…"

He was already shaking his head, recognizing the tone of his father's address.

"What did she say to you?"

He breathed sharply through his nose, pressing his lids together rather than face this gentle interrogation.

"Please… don't make me t-tell you." He said with softly urgent inflection, his throat jumping in a helpless spasm.

He waited, but the request didn't come again. Instead, he heard heavy breaths, uneven and hard. Carefully opening his eyes, he saw his father bowed forward in his chair, his hands open and tilted up as though in supplication. After a moment, as though sensing Shawn's awareness, he started to speak, eyes still downcast.

"Kid, I don't know what to do… I can't stop it… I can't help you… And I'm afraid that…" His hands rose up a little more before dropping again to hang limp. "I can't even save…" His head turned a little, and Shawn saw the moisture drip from the edge of his eyelashes.

"…dad… what she's doing…" he paused as his voice quavered, pouting his lips slightly until the tremor passed. "I hate that you…" He shook his head, barely keeping control. "It's sickening that you're seeing what's going on… but… but if I was al-alone… I think… I think it would kill me…" the last words faded to a cracked whisper, and he quickly turned away again, choosing to face the ceiling and its ever present drip than look to either side.

The other man must have lifted his head, because his voice was clearer when he spoke again. "I don't know what's… what's going to happen. But short of her killing me, I'm not going to abandon you. Just don't give up kid…"

0o0o0o0o0

"I can't believe it. The funeral is this Wednesday… and I still can't…"

Lassiter glanced towards the small collection of porcelain figurines as the woman across from him started weeping into a saturated Kleenex. Dear God… his wife had collected those things…

Waiting until there was a noticeable lessening of the flood, he finally looked back, realizing, once again, that this interview would have been far better suited to O'Hara's style.

"So your son and your husband got along fairly well?" He cringed as the woman brought up the tissue again, but thankfully it was just to dab at her nose.

"Well, I won't deny they fought now and then… but nothing too serious. Why, earlier this month, they even took a fishing trip together… they were gone for two weeks…" Her face started to crumple again. "Their last t-trip…" Her cries shook her frame, and Lassiter regretfully admitted to himself that the conversation would have to wait… probably for a while.

Standing, he said a few monotone words of apology he was certain weren't even heard, and made for the door.

Just as he was taking his first step into the sunshine, shades half raised towards his face, the woman appeared in the doorway. She kept herself within the shadow of her porch, one hand clutching the soaked tissue to her chest while the other hung rigidly on the door frame.

"Detective?"

He pivoted on his heel, still holding the sunglasses at his side. "Yes?"

She glanced at her feet, still looking like she was ready to melt right then and there. Lassiter resisted the urge to step back.

"It was right after the trip… when I was talking to Andy… I noticed…" She shook her head, her eyes distant. "He flinched when I touched him… for just a second. He acted like it was nothing… saying he'd hurt himself tripping over a root. But later… when he was changing for bed… I saw scratches and bruises on his lower back like he'd been…" Her face suddenly flushed, and she shook her head, retreating back in the house. "I'm sorry… please, I need to be alone."

Lassiter stood there a few seconds after the door shut, the hand holding his glasses hanging limply by his side. A hundred explanations were running through his head, but it was that single gut-wrenching notion that lodged firmly in the 'instincts-screaming' portion of his brain.

Spinning quickly, he raced to his car, phone already rising to his ear.

0o0o0o0o0

The ever-present drip, drip, drip of the cracked pipe above his head was the only beat of sound he'd heard for the last half hour; the sharp bitter taste in the back of his mouth a foul reminder of the whispered poison puffed against his ear. He'd allowed his eyes to close, lulled by the sound of his father's awkward slumber.

He must have drifted for a bit, because the next thing he was aware of was something cold pressed against his face; something that clinked lightly and left small dabs of moisture on his skin. Opening his eyes, his field of vision was dominated by a clear glass filled with ice water.

"Thirsty?"

Even the sight of the creature holding the glass didn't stop his involuntary swallow, his throat clicking with dryness. He licked his lips, aware of the small cracks that had appeared in them over the last… day? Or had it been longer? He was shocked to discover he didn't know.

"I read somewhere that you can survive for like, months without food. But," she jiggled the glass lightly, "you can die of dehydration in around three days." Lifting the glass, she took a deep sip, letting the water run down the sides of her face to soak into her blouse. Lowering her hand again, she wiped her face with her palm. "Ha… sorry, clumsy." Holding the glass out again, she placed a hand under the back of Shawn's head.

Intently focused in the glass, he merely stiffened, but didn't pull away. When the rim of the glass was barely touching his lower lip, she paused.

"When was the first time your father touched you Shawn?"

He gasped, glancing towards her face. "Wha… he never hurt me!" He rasped, his voice like soft sandpaper.

Mae sighed, easing the glass away. He tried to lean ahead for it, but was stopped by the strap across his neck. Sobbing weakly, he watched her drink the rest of the water. Moistening her lips, she reached her hand into the glass and wet her fingertip with the last traces at the bottom. Then, leaning forward, she pressed the fingertip past his lips to run it over his gumline. His pulse hammered at her unwelcome touch, but he kept a tight leash on the panic thrumming just beneath his skin.

"If you want more than what you can suck from my fingers, I suggest you consider your answers. Oh, and no placating… I want real truth from you." Sliding away again, she paused before the sleeping Henry, glancing back to smile at Shawn. "Don't think I can't _make_ it truth either." She said quietly.

Gliding to the door, she slipped through the opening without another word- leaving them in silence once more.


	7. Apart

Juliet waited for her partner on the steps to the clinic, anxiously checking her watch for the forth time. When her phone rang, she fumbled for it with slightly trembling hands.

"O'Ha… Gus…" Her heartbeat leveled, and inwardly she chastised herself for her jumpiness. But then, she'd been feeling jumpy for the last forty-nine hours. The lack of sleep didn't help either.

_"Any word?"_

She sighed at the strained helplessness she heard in his voice. "I'm… not yet. But we've got a few new leads… I promise, I will call you the second I know anything." She ran her nails over her forehead anxiously. "He's my friend too Gus…"

_"Henry wasn't like your second father Juliet… and Shawn was… isn't your best friend…" _ Was the fierce response.

Not knowing what else to say, she offered another word or two of encouragement before hanging up, knowing she'd get the same call, with the same repeated question, in another two hours. She refused to placate herself by thinking that next time she'd have better news.

"Come on Carlton…" She murmured, pacing a little across the concrete sidewalk. She'd actually been halfway through the door, one foot sinking onto the carpet, when her partner had called with terse instructions to wait for him outside. As was typical, he refused to give her a reason, save to say he might be consolidating a few cases soon. Irritated that he'd gone cryptic on her, she'd snapped her cell shut with enough force to ping the device with a small vibration.

So now, here she stood, drawing strange glances from both patients and random staff emerging from the dark glass doors. And honestly, one more 'may I help you ma'am' from anyone in scrubs and she might start taking hostages.

Thankfully, she was saved from any rash acts of self preservation when a familiar red sedan with the bullet gouge in the driver's side door pulled into the lot. Moments after parking, the door bounced open and long grey legs heaved their owner from the vehicle. Even behind shades, Lassiter appeared to be glaring. Of course, that could also be due to the fact that he rarely wore any other expressions.

Nodding to his shorter companion, he didn't pause as he headed for the brick building.

0o0o0o0o0

Shawn felt himself drifting in and out, the regular tap of water on his face a constant reminder of his thirst. For a while, he'd tried catching the drops on his tongue- but they were so small, and so spaced apart, that they only made the need worse. And twice more since that first teasing visit with the water glass, Mae had padded up to his table for questioning. The third visit, she'd allowed a single swallow, dumping the rest on the floor when he continued to insist his father hadn't molested him. Halfway through this same interrogation, his father had finally woken up, stiffening instantly when he saw the woman standing at his side. As far as she was concerned, however, the older man didn't exist. And after failing, once more, to get what she wanted from him, she left.

"How's your side?"

_Throbbing, aching, feeling like a drill puncturing through my stomach…_ "It's fine." He scraped out. Automatically raising his thumb to brush at the gauzy patch covering his wound, noticing the combination of heat and moisture radiating from the pores in the fabric.

"And your leg?"

_Much worse actually, maybe you noticed how I can't straighten it anymore because doing so would definitely induce high-pitched and undignified screaming._ "It's fine." He said in that same weighty tone, hoping his dad would just drop it… as though discussion would really make a difference.

"Shawn, listen son…"

"What!" He said suddenly, pivoting his head to glare angrily. "I should just take it easy, not strain myself or I'll just make it worse? Or is this the other chat- the one about keeping my cool, not getting worked up because sooner or later we're going to get out of here?" He pulled at the straps on his arms. "Nothing you say means anything now…"

"You don't think so…"

"Yes, I do think so! How can you possibly promise me anything dad!? You can't help me! You can't stop anything!" Only when he saw the grey eyes go wide with pain did he realize he'd just thrown his father's earlier words back in his face. They stared at each other for a few seconds, but Henry was the first to turn away.

"Yeah… you're right kid." He said stiffly.

Flooded with sudden remorse, Shawn rolled his head back to the side, and immediately tightened his jaw when he saw Mae hovering in the doorway. On reflex, his breath started to pump at a faster rate, and he urgently willed it to slow. If he could make it through her version of water torture, he'd do alright. As long as his anxiety didn't push him into another claustrophobic paroxysm, he thought he could deal with this. He'd be okay.

But when she walked into the room this time, she wasn't holding a glass.

0o0o0o0o0

"I should've called ahead."

Lassiter glanced at his partner, fully intending to agree with her, but stopped himself when he saw the way she bit at the fingernails she'd invested so much time into keeping neatly manicured.

"I… it isn't your fault…" he almost choked, wondering if maybe he'd knotted his tie a little too tightly that morning. Looking ahead, he saw the intersection growing closer.

"That's crap."

His hands tightened suddenly on the wheel as he braked before turning down the last street. "Excuse _me_?" he queried, snapping his shades from his eyes to stare down his partner. And, despite her size, she managed to meet his glare dead on.

"You heard me- I said that's crap Carlton! If I wanted platitudes I'd call my mother! As Head detective, you owe it to me to talk to me straight- you are not allowed to get wishy-washy now!!"

Feeling quite thoroughly put in his place, he fixed a clench-toothed grin on his face. "Very well," he forced, turning his shoulders sideway and raising his finger to point. "That was sloppy work detective, I expected better out of you! Any fresh-faced green cadet would have thought to see if the woman was even working today before dropping in for a cozy little chat…"

"Okay, that's enough." She said steadily, turning to face forward again.

It was a bit of a bumpy stop to rein himself in just as he'd worked up a good steam. Still, Carlton managed to chew off the rest of the sentence before it could tumble into his lap. Instead, archly flipping on his blinker, he turned the corner. "Glad we understand each other." He finally muttered.

From his peripheral vision, he saw her face smooth a little, the tiniest of smiles lifting the creases of her lips.

"Thank you." She said contentedly.

0o0o0o0o0

Her hands hovered by her sides as she walked through the room, gliding up to trace against the wall, curl over a dust shrouded and ancient sewing machine, and finally, drop to the top of Henry's head for a brief stroke before she inevitably moved to Shawn's side.

Her eyes moved across his body to light on the dried splatter on the other side of him.

"We'll definitely have to do something about that." she said, then lifted her head suddenly, staring towards the door where she'd entered. Shawn turned his head as well, quickly spotting the small red light brightening above the trim.

"Sorry, love, looks like you've earned a break." She said, immediately leaving his side to head for the door, pulling it shut quickly behind her.

"What's going…"

"I think… someone's at the door," interrupted Shawn, straining fruitlessly to hear.

0o0o0o0o0

Lassiter dropped his hand away from the buzzer in exasperation. "Is this woman deaf? Maybe her chime is broken…"

Juliet grabbed his wrist before he could start pounding on the door, and in the silence, he heard feet shuffling towards the entrance.

0o0o0o0o0

"HEEELP… SOMEONE HELP US!!!!" Screamed Shawn achingly, his voice chafing against his graveled throat. He knew the room was insulated, knew he couldn't hear a response even if there was one. But just maybe… just maybe…

"WE'RE IN THE BASEMENT!! PLEASE!!!!!"

0o0o0o0o0

"Do you hear yelling?"

Juliet wrinkled her nose in concentration as the door started to open. "Yeah, but barely… maybe just some kids or something…"

0o0o0o0o0

"Shawn…"

"Dad come on, help me here…"

"SHAWN!"

He paused mid-inhalation at the urgency in his father's voice. Instantly he turned his head the other way, breathing quickly.

Mae was back, and she wasn't alone.

0o0o0o0o0

"Can I help you?"

Lassiter held out his badge for the petite Asian woman clutching her bathrobe tightly.

"Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara ma'am. Is it alright if we come inside?"

0o0o0o0o0

The man that entered behind Mae was broad-shouldered, stiff, and silent. As the woman stepped lightly through the room, he followed behind like dog, tightly guarded while his eyes roamed over the faces of the two captives.

"This is my companion." She said brightly, clasping her hands at her back. "We've known each other for quite a long time now. And he's extremely handy." She chuckled, bringing her arms around to fold them before herself. "What, you think I dragged you down here all by myself?" She walked past Henry, leaving her 'friend' to hover at his side, while she advanced to Shawn's table.

"Now…" She said soothingly, immediately hopping up to sit on the edge of the table. Shawn pulled back in reaction to her closeness, something frozen thudding beneath his sternum.

"We had a lot of fun yesterday. And we were supposed to have more fun this morning… but daddy sorta spoiled that, didn't he." She said, tapping her fingertips against his side above the bandage.

The bands slowly began winding around him again, and he forced deep breaths to counter the sensation.

"Oh, you make my heart race too lover…" Oozed Mae, sliding her palm across his navel.

A startled and breathless cry escaped him when she draped her upper body across him, pressing agonizingly against his injured side. Softly, she started speaking again.

"I came up with a new game when your poppa destroyed the old one… and I know you're going to like it so much more. And the best part of all… you get to decide how it's played." She sat up, her hand methodically sliding down until the tips of her fingers brushed against the waistband of his still exposed blue cotton.

"…please… not any more… please…"

She patted his cheek with her free hand, and he pulled back in disgust. "Well it's totally up to you darling." She let her other hand circle around his belly button. "See, I don't like to force people to do what they don't want to do. It isn't as fun for me, and it takes longer to be fun for them. So… I've come up with a solution. You see my friend over there?" Shawn moved his head the tiniest bit, seeing the hulking figure still standing by his father's chair.

"This is how we'll do this. You choose… let me have some more fun like we had yesterday… or I let him have fun. And keep in mind…" She slid up his chest to whisper in his ear, "he won't be playing with his hands."

Shawn panted achingly, feeling a buzzing behind his forehead. "I can't… please…"

"There's a time limit. Answer me now… or I get to choose. Keep in mind, I don't like to deny my friends their pleasures." Her hand moved towards his waist again, stopping just short of her destination. "Who will it be? Speak now. Do you want him?"

Shawn shook his head quickly, the first of his tears hovering against his lower lashes.

"Do you want me?"

"STOP IT!! PLEASE- STOP…I'LL TAKE HIS PLACE- I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT…" His father's yells were cut off with the sound of a fist striking the ridge of his jaw. Mae acted as though she hadn't heard it at all- her eyes locked on Shawn's.

"Do you want me to touch you?"

Turning his face away, huffing miserably through his nose, Shawn gave a single abrupt nod.

"Not good enough sweetie… I want to hear it. Say, I want you to touch me. Say it... moan it! And convince me." Her hand grasped his chin. "Or maybe I let my friend take daddy instead…"

She forced Shawn's head around, her other hand still circling, circling, circling. "Say it."

"…I… I w-wan… want you…" he gusted out a wretched breath, ending in a tiny sob. "… to t-t-t-touch-mm-me…" Jerking his chin away from her fingers, tears rolling freely, he bit into his cheek as both hands skated beneath his waistband.

"You just know I can't deny you when you beg…"

0o0o0o0o0

Henry spit blood to the floor, rasping through his teeth, chin shaking at the decision being forced on Shawn. He couldn't see his son beyond the man standing before him, but he could hear the broken words. And then he heard soft murmurs… shaking moans… tear-filled gasps…

Mae chuckled, and there was the sound of pleading… melting into a tormented cry…

He turned away, desperately seeking any sort of memory to banish the persistent nightmare that encapsulated them both.

He also prayed that Shawn could somehow do the same… and succeed where he couldn't.

0o0o0o0

When the last of the jerking shudders died away, Mae released him. Pushing back, she wiped her fingers on the edges of her shirt and leaned in for another kiss, digging her nails into Shawn's cheeks as she forced his lips apart and stroked her tongue against the roof of his mouth. Then stepping away, she looked up at the man still hovering over Henry. "Clean up for me would you?"

With a toss of her head, she bounced away.

Shaking in frozen despair, Shawn's body tried to revolt again- but his earlier purging had emptied him completely. All he could manage was a horrible explosive bark as he retched in agony.

Seconds later, he felt hands grasp his shoulders. Blackness took over his mind.

_"**NO, NO, NO, NO- STOP, DON'T!! STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!!!"**_ He shrieked, thrashing against the fingers. He hardly noticed when they released him. And then, all at once, his left hand pulled free.

But so completely was he undone that he merely wrapped it around his waist, curling away from this new tormentor. "Please… I can't take… please don't, please don't, please don't…" he begged, curling into himself.

0o0o0o0o0

Henry felt his own stomach twist sickly when the man before him turned away to approach Shawn's table. When he dropped his hands to the boy's shoulders, when Shawn's voice screamed piercingly, he dragged himself half out of the chair, his wrists bent nearly to the point of breaking.

But then, suddenly, the man's fingers dropped to the strap on Shawn's wrist, and seconds later- the leather slipped free.

Turning away from the quaking form, he returned to Henry's side. Instantly his hands lit on the restraints encircling his wrists, tugging at the buckles.

"I…mmmm… soorr… sorry…" He said, almost drunkenly. Henry sensed it had been a while since the other man had spoken anything.

"I don't understand…" he started, worrying at the other restraint the moment his first wrist was free.

"Sh-she kep… mee here… a long t-time…" Said the man, bending to work at the ankle bindings. "Shhhheee… had me for… years… I have to do whaat… she says…"

The last buckle pulled free, and Henry immediately tried to stand, crumpling at the surge of weakness in his legs. The man before him grabbed him quickly, his movements fluid in spite of the slurred speech that would indicate otherwise.

Getting his legs under himself again, Henry allowed the man to help him to Shawn's sagged form. "Get his legs free!" With his hands on the metal edge, Henry dragged himself around to the other side. Shawn's eyes seemed fixed on something beyond him, staring unblinkingly, tears still skittering down his white cheeks. He didn't seem to see Henry at all.

"Shawn…" He said softly, carefully freeing the buckle and peeling it away from the torn flesh beneath. "Son… look at me kid…" Shawn didn't respond, his body limp and unresponsive, even when Henry placed a tentative hand on his bunched shoulder.

"Y-youuuu… need to g-go…" Said the man as he pulled Shawn's ankles free of the final straps. "Therzz… a door… before you get to th-the top of the s-stairs…"

"Please, you have to come back…" Said Henry urgently, pressing his hands against Shawn's cheeks. "Dammit kid!"

A single blink, and the pulse at the edge of his finger tips suddenly began to surge. "…d-dad…"

His breath shook with relief. "Yeah son…"

"Help me dad… please…please… it hurts…" he whispered, closing his eyes as fresh tears ran down his face.

"Hurry!" Said the man, taking a few steps to the door.

Wrapping and arm around Shawn's shoulders, preparing to help him from the table, Henry looked at the larger man with confusion. "Why…"

"S-she stopped playing the g-gaaame right… sh-she's supposed to just turn his mind a… against you…" He breathed deeply, seeming to fight the words coming from him.

"But now… sh-she's changed it… changed the r-rules." He stepped forward quickly, his hand coming to rest on the table surface. "When she c-comes back… it's for the l-last timmme… And sh-she is planning to tor-torture him to d-death."

Pulse throbbing against his throat, supporting the slumped body of his son, Henry narrowed his eyes. "Who are you…"

The other man clenched his teeth, his jaw trembling. "J-Justin D-Dodge… Judge M-Markus Dodge is my father…"


	8. Numb

**W.A.R.N.I.N.G- EXTREMELY SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTER**

**A lot of you may have realized we were building up to a pretty strong chapter. I'll just say, this was the most difficult writing of any kind that I've ever done. At the same time, it was absolutely required for the furtherance of this story. That being said, proceed with awareness that it isn't going to be pretty.**

It blurred at the edges… the face of his father leaning over him.

He thought he heard the voice urging him… and he answered in a bewildered haze. And then he was begging… knowing it was another trick… and that his mind had finally snapped after that last…

_Panting… rolling tightness… hands grasping roughly…demanding… forcing…_

Something dripped on his forehead, _that damn pipe again_, and he lifted a hand to brush it away… suddenly floored when nothing stopped the motion. He was free? But… how? And if this was real… The hand changed direction, reaching out tentatively- expecting empty space. Instead, it pressed against his father's chest, and was immediately clasped in a rough, worn grip.

"…dad…"

"I'm here kid…"

He swallowed once, then again as a freezing convulsion traveled through his limbs. He felt something hollow cutting through his gut- unassociated with the several times he'd vomited helplessly. This sensation wasn't exactly pain… more like a deadness… flickering along the edges of his spine, and settling around his lungs, stealing the force from his breaths. It felt like tendrils of this same force were coiling around his throat as well, and he wanted nothing more than to curl on his side and pull his elbows into his midsection.

But the persistent hand gripping his arm wouldn't let him.

"Shawn, we have to go… can you sit up?" The hand not clutching his arm was wrapped around his shoulders, and was gently urging him upright. The motion ached… then throbbed with sudden violence where the knife had stabbed through his side. With one hand locked white-knuckled on his father's shoulder, he started to ease his legs towards the table edge. Even the slightest movement tore at the wound, and he clenched his teeth in pain.

As he twitchingly slid his ankles over the edge, guided by a gentle touch, he became aware of another stinging pain… one that flooded his face with heat and unbearable humiliation.

_Endless pressure… quaking breath… nails digging… "_

_…I… I w-wan… want you to t-t-t-touch-mm-me…"_

Wrenching away from the firm hands, stomach lurching helplessly, he toppled to the floor with a sharp scream. His fingers hovered in the air, not knowing where to land. Then Henry was beside him, lifting his head out of the cold water, pressing a weathered palm against his forehead. "God… you're burning up…" He couldn't even push away. His arms lifted clumsily, the tips of his fingers barely grazing against the concrete as he was carefully pulled against a firm torso.

"Y-y-you need too huuuuurry…"

The badly formed words caught his attention sharply, and he looked up at the looming figure beyond him. A fuzzy memory of the past few minutes looped through his head, and he blinked heavy lids in shock. The Judge's son? But… it made no sense… If she was trying to brainwash the kids of people she deemed guilty of failing her… why keep one as a pet? Why have the Judge murder his wife?

As his eyes squinted in focus, he noticed the faded imprint of an old scar just beneath the other man's larynx. When Justin turned, he must have seen something in Shawn's expression, for he pulled down the collar of his shirt a little way to expose the ragged tissue.

"Sh-sh-she used to ch-choke mmmee… with r-r-rope… b-but the gammme got o-old when sh-she couldn't sssssee mmy eyes anym-more… af-after."

Shawn grated back the feeling of sickness, lowering his face again. Behind him, Henry gently encouraged him to stand, and he squeezed shut his eyes as he strained to push upright, gasping at the complete ache throughout his body.

Looking towards the other man again once he'd gained his breath, he tipped back his head, clutching the table edge with one hand. "Why…"

"I-I-I finally re-remembered… when… when she k-k-killed my mo-mo-mother…" He said fiercely. "Now h-hurry!"

Turning for the door, Justin opened it carefully, and rocked back into the room when a thunderous blast took off half his face.

Shawn stumbled against the table, gripping it tightly as a slender form entered the room, a black pistol clutched in her hands. Wordlessly, she turned her body in the direction of the other two men- and pulled the trigger. Shawn hunched at the crack, but it was his father that grasped his belly and crumpled to the floor.

_NO!!_

He wanted to move forward, in spite of his unsteady balance, but Mae advanced on him, gun held aloft. His legs gave out beneath him as his back scraped down the edge of the table, dropping with a splash. Throat constricted, the only sound he could make was fervent and piercing. His eyes snapped sideways, horrified by the blood spreading on his father's shirt. "…d-dad…" He started to slide towards his father, but a foot lashed out and struck his leg. Crashing to the floor, he screamed in blinding pain.

Deliberately lifting her gun, Mae stood over his writhing form. Unable to move, he watched her free hand lower it to her waist, working loose her jeans and letting them drop to the floor in a clump. When she started tearing at her panties, he dug his fingers into the cracks in the floor, trying to drag himself away from her.

"Where are you trying to go? Don't tell me this has gotten old for you? I thought you enjoyed playing the bitch!" Her foot struck his ribs, jolting an agonized shriek at the black throb pulsing from the inflamed tissue in his side. Then he felt her grab his arm and raise it above his head. He tried to wrench away, a sudden clamp of horrible foreboding cutting off his breath.

He felt a familiar strap twisting around the skin as she one handedly tugged at the leather, working it tight. There was no strap close enough for his other hand though… and when she turned and stepped away, he immediately flashed his hand up to struggle with the bindings. When she returned, she'd retrieved a length of rope. At the sight of him trying to break free, she swung her arm and smashed the gun against his cheek- stunning him long enough to bind his other arm, then knot them together at the wrists. For just a moment, she laid down the gun on the corner of the table, tugging her thin shirt over her head and casting it aside before retrieving the weapon once more.

His heart pounded achingly when he felt her drop into his lap, and he pressed his back in terror against the cold side of the table, moaning when he felt the steel muzzle indent the hollow of his neck.

"You… you… you… said you…" his trembling cries melted as his vocal cords locked around his panicked words.

"I did that for Lizbeth… to get vengeance for her." She paused, pressing the gun into his esophagus. "She'll have that once daddy's cold. So as far as I'm concerned, I've done my part. And now," her hand slid across his collarbone, "it's my turn to do what pleases me." He heard the smile in her voice. "Oh… it won't be so bad sweetheart… deep down… I know you've been wanting this… you proved that twice. Why else would you be so… responsive."

Her body pressed up against his, a moist tongue darting out to glide over his chest. "Mmm… do you think you can scream for me this time? Do you think about me when I'm gone… wanting me… lusting for me…"

His leg flamed from her weight, and his side throbbed with steady ferocity. But nothing compared to the sensation of her hand thrusting down to grip him tightly.

"Gnuuuuh!" His head slammed back against the metal wall, and he started gasping as her body slid closer. Seconds later, he felt a tug on his boxers, and a hand moving against him. "St-stop… please… it hurts… it hurts…" he implored with a shredded whimper.

"It will fade." She whispered.

When she rocked forward, her breath puffing loudly against his neck, he tore his lip with his teeth.

When she began to pant, gun lightly tapping against his skin, he wept into his shoulder, and snapped his mind from his surroundings.

He forgot about time… forgot himself for a while… grasping for anything that would let him believe he was anywhere else… anyone else… but then, what he heard, was the steady bass of his father's voice…

_"The name of the game is survival, sports fans. And in order to survive you've gotta fight. And if you fight, you better damn well win…"_

A hand rose to grip his shoulder, the nails digging in, cutting in…

"_This isn't happening to me…!" _

_"What IS happening to you Shawn…?" _

_"Only the worst thing ever…"_

Hard metal pressed painfully, his neck jumping in response…

_"I know it might seem like your going to win every time Shawn… but no matter how good you are… there's always somebody who's better…"_

The body pressed closer, breath panting faster…

_"Shawn… do you really want to be a hero someday…?"_

He was brought back violently with a forced climax as he released a raw groan.

Hanging limply from his aching arms, tears trickling down his face and shaking with silent sobs… he was overwhelmed by what had just happened to him.

And his heart shattered.

Mae collapsed against his body, the gun pulling away slightly as she pressed her heaving chest against his, sweat soaking through her bra… feeling like corruption on his skin.

He waited for taunting words… rotting affection…

But all he heard was breathing.

Then she stiffened… her breath suddenly jerking as she sat up- one hand smashing roughly against his chest as she thrashed away with an anguished cry. "N-n-noooooo!!!" She stuttered, her rapid gasps splintered, filled with pain instead of lust- lurching to the far wall- squeezing her hands over her ears, rapping the gun against her temple. "…don't touch me- don't touch me!"

He gaped in shock as she stared at him… jerked _Away_ from him… and melted into wrenching tears. "You promised, you promised, you promised…" she choked with hitching breaths, scalded sobs shaking her mercilessly.

Suddenly, her eyes looked up, round, young, and… defiled. "Why…?" She pleaded, betrayed gaze fixed on his. "I tried… I tried to help you…" She whispered… her voice horrifyingly reflecting stolen innocence.

Sniffing, she jammed the gun between her teeth and pulled the trigger.

**"GUUHAAA**!" Cried Shawn at the deafening blast.

The girl tumbled to the floor with a weak splash, crimson threads widening around her fractured skull.

Stunned and heartsick, Shawn stared at the sheer volume of blood spattered up the wall. Then, listing drunkenly, he was aware that his body was trying to pass out. Everything grayed at the edges, but something insisted that he had to stay awake… that he couldn't afford the mercy that unconsciousness offered.

It came to him with the sound of weak breaths.

_Dad…_

Shoving at the cloud twisting around his head, he wrenched his arms downward before the sting of abraded flesh reminded him to actually _think_ about what to do.

Twisting his left hand painfully, fingers splaying as he arched his back, he managed to hook a single digit around the restraint binding his right wrist. Grunting in pain, he wriggled the single finger back and forth, working it methodically under the buckle. Pausing to gasp a few times, arms shaking in strain, he finally just caught the loop of leather strap and began to pull it through the metal clasp. The awkwardness of his position made it complicated to get a good grip, but finally, sweat beading on his upper lip, he finally forced it though.

Letting his hands drop limply, he slid back down against the table to work free the twisted rope. Still, there was no time to rest. Stopping long enough to fix his clothes, he rolled slowly to his stomach. Yelping and whining, he heaved himself across the floor to his father's side.

The other man was pale, his face haggard as he exhaled slowly. Examining the wound, he saw that the bullet had entered somewhere to the right of his kidneys. Pulling his shirt over his head, Shawn pressed it against the wound, earning a moan and blearily opening eyes.

"Dad…"

The older man rolled his head slightly. "Sh-Shawn… you… kay?" he asked roughly.

Gusting a shaking breath, Shawn nodded. "I'm fine." He grabbed Henry's right hand, placing it against the folded shirt. "Can you hold this here? I'm going to see if I can find a phone…"

"…Mae…"

He jerked, but hid it from his father. "She's dead… killed herself…"

Henry's hand dropped from his side to grasp weakly at Shawn's arm. "Did… she hurt you…"

Turning his face away, using his free hand to rub the salty streaks from his chin, Shawn shook his head. "No… Liz… Lizbeth took over before she had a chance…"

Glancing back, Shawn placed Henry's fingers back over the shirt. "Just hold it there dad… I'll be back…"

Crawling away, working his way out of his father's sight, he paused briefly to scoop puddled water in his hands, washing as best as he could before re-adjusting his clothing and pulling up his zipper again.

The door leading to the stairs was only ten feet away, just beyond the stiffening body of Justin Dodge.

Clenching his teeth, he started to crawl.

0o0o0o0o0

Lassiter glared at the case file in his hands. Nothing was right about this… nothing added up, it was beyond frustrating.

"Coffee?"

He really didn't need to answer as he snatched the warm cup from his partner's fingers. Lifting off the cover, he tipped back for a deep sip. Three creams, four sugars, and the perfect temperature to delight his palate without scalding his tongue. "Oh God bless you…" He murmured softly.

"I'm sorry?"

He looked up quickly, clearing his throat and straightening in his chair. "Nothing… you talk to the coroner yet?"

Juliet nodded. "He found a several faint scars when he examined the skin on Andy Fender's wrists and ankles… but most were so faded that determining ligature will be difficult."

Lassiter slapped the file on his desk, flipping back the lid for the twentieth time. There had to be something…

The phone on his desk rang, and he absently picked up the receiver, his tone dulled and heavy. "Lassit… _SPENCER_??"

He hardly noticed O'Hara as she shakily set her own coffee cup, nearly toppling it off the edge of his desk.

_"Car-Carlton…you need too… come quick… dads been sh-shot…" _

"Spencer! Spencer!" Several officers had crowded close at his words, and he reached out to grab Buzz by the shoulder. "He didn't hang up, get a trace on that now!" Leaving the man to carry out his orders, he and O'Hara ran for the Chief's office and pressed into the room.

"Detectives…!"

"It's Spencer, we found him!"

0o0o0o0o0

He was lying on his back, and something circled his wrist. Heartbeat going from gentle to thudding in less than a second, he almost sat up until he registered a change. For one, he was lying on a bed… a softer surface than he'd felt in a long time. Second… he wasn't restrained. What he'd thought was a strap was actually a plastic medical bracelet. Breathing out a lungful of stale fear, he slowly opened his eyes.

A bowed head met his gaze from a chair near the wall. However, the head wasn't the one he'd expected to see. Not even close.

"L-Lassy?"

The way the detective jerked in his chair would have been amusing if he still had the capacity for humor.

"Spencer… God…" His voice was hollow, and something in his eyes…

Shawn started to rub at his wrists, but stopped when he encountered heavy bandages. "How's my dad?" he scratched, tilting his head back a little at the dryness in his throat.

"He'll be okay… we got there in time…" the response was too gentle… too hesitant…

"Spenc…"

"Where's Gus?" he interrupted quickly, turning his head slightly when the other man fumbled to his side for a paper cup, lifting it and pressing the straw between Shawn's lips. The water was ecstasy, and he would have quickly drained the cup if Lassiter didn't pull it away before he could choke.

"O'Hara took him to get some food… he hasn't eaten anything for days. Look… I…"

"Is there anything to eat arou…"

"I know what happened. I saw her body… that she was…" He looked down at his hands, and Shawn turned to stare up at the tiles overhead.

"The doctors ran a kit… they found that… they found abrasions… and there were skin cells…"

"Nothing happened." He felt eyes on him… but of all the people to be staring at him with pity…

"You were raped."

"No."

"Spencer…"

"No!" He turned, his face furious, anguished. "Look, she's dead, it doesn't matter… so drop it…" he grated, using the back of his hand to swipe at his eyes before rolling away.

He could hear the other man breathing behind him, shifting back and forth. Finally he spoke softly again. "I have to take your statement…"

"I don't want to talk about it…"

"Dammit Shawn, listen to me!" He rolled back, startled as much by the intensity as by the use of his first name. "This sort of attack is complex already… but add to that a woman with documented instability and a history of sexual abuse…" He tightened his jaw. "I don't know if you realize it but ever since your involvement with the Panitch trial, Warren Phelps has been itching for any reason to nail you for the smallest violation. Considering your DNA was found in Lizbeth Garfield, he'd have little trouble accusing _you_ of raping _her_!"

Shawn gripped the edge of his sheet, an unwelcome heat rushing against the back of his throat. "I'm gonna…"

"I promise you, I'll keep this discrete, but I have to have your statemen…"

Shawn rolled quickly, retching over the bed railing. Lassiter jumped back, startled, then quickly grabbed Shawn's shoulders as he started to pitch forward. Holding him steady, he waited until the last hacking tremors passed before easing him back into the bed. As soon as Shawn was settled, he retrieved the paper cup, letting him take a few more sips before returning it to the table.

"…sorry…" said Shawn weakly, rubbing a palm across his forehead.

"Don't… don't apologize… I shouldn't have pushed you."

For the second time in minutes, Shawn was struck by the tone in the other man's voice. It was unnerving… but still…

Taking a few steadying breaths, he looked up at the taller man.

"You can have my statement… on one condition." Lassiter tilted his head.

"My dad doesn't know… and neither does Gus." He glanced down at his hands.

"They never will… they can't."

He sensed rather than saw the brief nod. "Okay."


	9. Nothing

Lassiter growled under his breath as he walked back down the hospital corridor. He'd actually had been sitting in his car, flipping a quick once-over through Spencer's statement, when he'd realized the mistake. No signature. Brilliant.

He knew why. Give him any day with a hardened criminal. Give him a weekend with no rest, pouring over the most gruesome crime scenes- brain matter, severed limbs, spilled organs… he'd take all of it over the half hour he'd listened while the biggest pain in his ass listlessly detailed two and a half days of churning torture and repeated assault… punctuated by the shooting of his father, and his own rape.

Lassiter had guts of steel, and he was rather proud of that. But he cringed, his insides curdling like a first day on the job rookie, when his mind played with all-too-perfect clarity the events as they were described to him. Not even the most stoic victim shared every precise detail when interviewed. Trauma had a way of bending certain events around… sometimes wiping them away completely, only to be remembered later as the shock wore off. But with Spencer, he actually felt like he'd heard everything exactly as it happened. What made it even worse was the way it was recited, like the man speaking the words was reading names from a phonebook. No inflection, no pause, no shaking of his voice. And throughout it all, Lassiter was confronted by the overlapping mental images of a grinning, permanently youthful, brashly annoying "I know I'm too charming for words" play-cop… with this violently debasing desecration.

He's been in such a rush to get out of that claustrophobic space that he'd almost crushed the opening door against his toes. And he'd forgotten to get the man's signature.

Glancing down at the slender file again, he approached the door slowly. Spencer had looked pretty worn out when he'd left earlier- if he was sleeping…

The well oiled handle didn't make a sound as he turned the short metal bar and carefully pushed open the door.

Spencer was lying on his back- his wounds obviously making other positions difficult. His head was turned away, his eyes closed, and for a moment- Lassiter thought he'd guessed correctly… that he was sleeping.

But then he saw the glaze of something wet tracing down his face in a steady, ceaseless stream. Eyes still closed, hands locked in fists at his sides, the young man's head rocked with a triple jerk- followed by a shaking sigh, then another triple jerk, and another shaking sigh- endlessly repeating; a child's hitching cries embodied in a grown man. And every few seconds, the choked breaths would be interrupted by a brief, poignant sob, hollow sounding in the darkened room.

The level of his grief was piercing- more so because of his perceived solitude. Rather than disillusion him, Lassiter slid back and let the door fall shut with the barest touch- holding the handle down to prevent the click, then easing it in place silently.

Pressing his back against the wall next to the door, folder tucked under one arm, he braced his palms against his knees- forcing out a sharp breath. _Pull it together, you're a Head detective, and this is just another case…_

Pinching the flesh between his brows, he gradually straightened, brushing a hand over his hair to scratch at the back of his neck- grateful O'Hara wasn't there to see his momentary slip.

O'Hara… shit.

When they'd arrived at the scene, they'd found Spencer first, half delirious and bleeding- phone still clutched in his hand. Leaving his younger partner to tend him until the paramedics arrived, he'd taken two other officers and canvassed the house, finally ending up in the basement. God, the basement.

He had one of his men shut off the faucet shedding water steadily across the floor. He himself knelt, soaking his knees, next to the pale and groaning elder Spencer. The wound had bled through the shirt bunched against it. Remarkably, the older man was still awake… and somewhat coherent. Gathering a few quick details, he remained next to him until EMTs stepped carefully to his side. Assuring the man that his son was being tended to, Lassiter then stood to examine the rest of the room. The only other occupants were clearly dead- both missing significant parts of their skulls. But the sight of the woman was what fixed his attention- dragging him to hunch down beside her. The only article of clothing on her body was a bra; the gun clenched in her hands painting a clear picture of her cause of death. But why was she…

Frowning, he stood again, turning around to study the tableau of the metal table and wooden chair in the center of the room. Both were fixed with heavy restraints, the leather of which was streaked with blood in spots. He realized he'd noticed darkly bruised and torn skin on both Spencer men's wrists… no doubt there were matching ones on their ankles. The younger of the two men had also had a raw patch on his throat, just below the chin. Only the table sported a neck restraint- so it was obvious the young man had been bound there- his father in the chair. Something was thudding in the back of Carlton's head, but rather than consider it yet, he continued his search, demanding facts over intuition.

There was blood on the floor next to the table. The water had spread the stain, but he could still see than someone had been sitting there. Nearby, a pair of jeans and some ripped panties were tossed in a heap. Something noxious and filmy lodged behind his navel. For the first time since earning the badge, he felt suddenly sick at a crime scene.

_God no…_

Henry was being carried out of the room by this point. O'Hara had yet to make an appearance, obviously feeling that staying with the younger man was of highest importance right then. Personally, he considered that the greatest mercy. She'd find out soon enough… but he didn't want it to be like this.

And not until he was absolutely, completely certain.

He left a contingent of officers to document the room. He waved away his partner's questions while they rushed to his car, sliding in, buckling in, to follow the throbbing red and white.

He insisted O'Hara call the Chief while he trailed after the rolling gurneys. When they came to a stop, he grabbed one doctor by the arm and pulled him to the side.

"The younger man… Shawn Spencer… I need…" He swallowed black acid. "I need you to run a rape kit."

A curious look, and finally a nod.

And then the wait.

He didn't know how many cups of coffee he drank, sitting beside O'Hara on a chair that had obviously been carved from a boulder.

He had a lot of time to ruminate.

He had a lot of time to deflect the persistent questions.

He had a lot of time to clasp his hands beneath his chin, silent and internal as the best friend arrived, as the Chief arrived, as various officers and friends passed back and forth.

His phone rang before the doctor arrived… a return of news he'd requested just after leaving the wounded men in the ER. The findings from the morgue were in. And suddenly, his tongue wooden, he knew what the results from the kit would be.

When examining the woman, they'd found semen. They'd checked it against the DNA on file. It was a match.

He snapped the phone shut without a response.

His eyes unerringly turned towards his partner, finding her already staring back at him. Something must have been sliding across his expression, for her face went pale. He couldn't keep it away any more.

He found a place that was out of earshot. He stood by the wall, the Chief on one side, O'Hara on the other.

In quiet tones, he changed their lives.

0o0o0o0o0

Pushing away from the wall, Lassiter pulled the file out from under his arm and headed back down the corridor.

Slapping the heavy cover against his open hand, he almost walked right into Guster.

"Oh, sorry detective." said the man quietly. He was holding a Styrofoam cup in one hand- Lassiter didn't even have to guess at what it contained. However, what mattered was that he couldn't let Gus walk in on his best friend just now.

"What are you doing." Okay, he did have 'detective' in his title… though the expression on the other man's face seemed to challenge that.

"I was thinking of applying as a candy-striper… I figured my experience as a pharmaceuticals salesman might give me a leg up. Oh, and if there was time after my rounds, I thought I might stop in and say hi to my best friend- I heard he was renting an apartment in the area."

He had to hand it to the guy, being friends with the psychic certainly rounded out his sarcasm repertoire.

"That's not what I meant…"

"Look, if it'd okay with you, I'd like to go visit Shawn now…"

"Hold on…" Lassiter's hand was around Gus's upper arm before he'd even realized he'd grabbed it. Gus, surprised by the sudden restraint, paused just long enough for Carlton to work up a reason for his postponement.

"Actually- I just came from his room… but they didn't let me in… they're giving him a bath. They said they'd be done in about twenty minutes though…"

Gus seemed to consider that… his jaw working back and forth for a second. Finally he nodded. "Well I guess he's earned it… probably got a hot nurse too…"

Lassiter managed to prevent himself vomiting. He had to remind himself that Gus knew only of the stabbing wounds… not the ones that had truly penetrated.

"Come on," he said in forced brightness, "I'll by you a cup of the hospital's finest blend while you wait." If Gus thought he was acting out of character, he didn't voice it. He did raise his eyebrows though. Either way, it didn't matter. He'd made a promise… and even if it required preventing the psychic from being the one to give himself away- he meant to keep it.

0o0o0o0o0

Alone in his room, Shawn turned his head stiffly to stare up at the ceiling. The moisture on his cheeks was slowly drying, but his chest still ached painfully. He'd kept himself distant for the entire conversation with Lassiter. Reciting his memories like he was calling up 'how many hats', he'd managed to get through the entire thing.

But the moment he was left alone, the hastily constructed blockade shivered once, then crumbled apart, leaving no survivors.

He felt sick again, but he thought he'd die if he had to eject anything more across the ravaged tissue of his windpipe. Instead, counting the tiles until the rolling sensation passed, he attempted to return to that colorless state of nonexistence.

In time, he succeeded.


	10. You May Think You'll Always Win

He'd left the hospital about an hour ago- finally allowing Guster to round can the slightly burnt brew that had grown cold while the two men pretended to talk idly about nothing, each hoping the other didn't notice their individual glances at the clock. Lassiter had managed to drag twenty minutes of uncomfortable weather conversation into nearly half an hour. Finally, though, he knew he'd pushed the distraction bit long enough. As excruciatingly enjoyable as the psychic's sidekick's presence was, he needed to go, and simply hope the twenty-eight minutes was enough time for Spencer to collect himself.

As the other man hurried rapidly from the room, practically throwing himself through the doors, Lassiter gave the slender brown file another scowl. Well, he'd just have to try for a signature tomorrow. It may have been early still, but there was no way, short of getting shot, that he planned to return to the hospital today.

In fact, he'd probably call ahead first.

0o0o0o0o0

The room was really dark.

Gus almost flipped on the light, but a movement from the bed stilled him.

"Shawn?"

The other man opened his eyes, turning his head a bit as Gus moved further into the room. He couldn't help but wince at the injuries on his friend's face, nor flinch at the knowledge of the wounds hidden beneath the thin hospital gown. He could hardly believe his friend had been stabbed! Yeah, they took in some fairly scary cases sometimes… had been shot at more times than he cared to remember- but never anything like this!

The stitches across Shawn's cheek had been neatly placed, a tight row of six overlapping a dark bruise in the outline of a gun handle. His lips were cracked, and on one side, there was a rough tear, almost like he'd tried to chew through his own face. Still, all and all, he'd come out of this in moderately good shape. From what he'd heard, the stab wound in his side had mostly missed any organs- only grazing the intestinal wall. The leg wound was worse- slicing through the muscle and scoring against the femur. He'd need a crutch for a while to get around. But even so… for a couple of days of torture, plus deprivation of water and food… well, all he knew- is it could have been a lot worse.

"How you doing?"

His friend shrugged. "I'm fine. I wouldn't mind some tastier hospital food though." Looking down, he plucked at his bed sheets. "You get a chance to see my dad yet?"

Gus took a few more steps forward to drop into the empty chair near the bed.

"Yeah… earlier this morning. He was sleeping, so I didn't stay long. Doctors say he's doing really well… it was clean, no organ damage."

Shawn nodded, still playing with the white linen. "I guess… you'll probably have to cook for us… till dad gets better. He probably won't be up to being an… a stove jockey for a while."

And he smiled.

Gus tried not to stare, not able to directly pinpoint what was so gruesome about his friend's expression. Something… The words were more or less Shawn-like… if hesitantly delivered. But point in fact, if asked, Gus would say it sounded almost like Shawn actually had to _think_ about what he would say. And that was saying something considering the guy barely thought about the destination for his next trip until he got to the airport. Hello, Thailand?

It was unnerving.

And the thin smile looked like it had been pasted on his face.

"I was going to bring you a smoothie, but I guess they were sponging you down at the time and it melted." Okay, deer in headlights- though not the first time he'd seen that expression on his friend's face- didn't fit with the sentence he'd just spoken. That had to be some amazing pain medication.

"Shawn?"

Sudden shake of the head- something in his eyes like dawning comprehension. "Yea… yeah. They actually had to change my bandages too… and they wouldn't get me any gel for my hair either, can you believe it?"

Gus rubbed his hands on his slacks, feeling more and more uneasy every time Shawn spoke. "No… no, I can't believe it." He said quietly.

They talked about more of the nothing that was all they had between them. Now and then, Shawn would say something- something that should have been funny but wasn't, something that should have been spontaneous, but merely came off as badly rehearsed.

And then Shawn said he was tired, and Gus said he'd be back tomorrow.

But with the door settling shut against his shoulders, he couldn't shake the feeling, a hazy shapeless feeling, that although he'd spoken to the man, received a response, and patted his arm goodbye, his best friend had been absent the entire time.

0o0o0o0o0

_"I thought you enjoyed playing the bitch!" _

_"Stop, please… it hurts…" _

_"It will fade…" _

_Hips dug forward, grinding against him…crushing against him in violent, agonizing thrusts. _

_….stop…_

_Hard metal rhythmically tapping against his cheek… _

_….stop…. please…. _

_Heated breath panted heavily while fingers clawed… tore… _

_…it hurts… _

_Pain and wrested arousal intermingled- unattached… unwanted… ripping… stealing… _

"NUUUUUGGGHH… _**N-NNOOOOO**_… _HUHH… HUHH_….!" Heaving, shaking, Shawn was upright with one leg over the edge of the bed before he realized he was awake. Acid cut through him, and lunging, he managed four thrashing steps before slapping to the floor to empty his stomach urgently.

Coughing, wiping the thin residue from his lower lip, he crawled away from the mess, dragging into a corner of the room to pull his arms around his chest. Overcome by quaking, teeth chattering with deep cold, he wheezed dryly- eyes staring fixedly at the bed across from him. He was shivering, but he couldn't bring himself to lift his body back onto the mattress.

He loathed the fear… loathed the way it clenched around his stomach… clamped at the back of his neck…

Shuddering, he turned his face towards the floor, pressing his unwounded side against the chill linoleum. His throat ached fiercely from so many eliminations… and after that last one…

He hadn't looked, but he tasted something slick and metallic on the back of his tongue.

He supposed that could be construed as a bad development… but rather than think about it, he found that the sinking whirl of blackness buzzing against his retinas was far more important right then.

0o0o0o0o0

Final bed check before clocking out. It really was the best time of the night. Well, technically, it was morning at this point- though a glance out the window would make proving that difficult.

Patients 201 through 214 were peacefully resting. Patient 215 had been missing from her bed, but a gentle tap at the bathroom door assured the duty nurse that the woman was merely dealing with an over-active bladder.

216 through 218 were also asleep, which meant only twelve more doors before she could log off and hit the parking garage.

Patient 219 wasn't in his bed.

Her eyes skated across to the bathroom door, noting immediately that it was open, the overhead light off. Glancing back towards the center of the room, she saw something dark on the floor. Two steps in, her body shifted enough for the hallway light to stream across the pale green surface… and change the splattered hue from black to crimson.

Gasping she slapped on the room light, taking two more steps in, and turning. The young man was crumpled against the wall, respiration shallow, and streaks of blood dried on his chin.

She hit the call button and knelt by his side.

0o0o0o0o0

It was a curse, it had to be. There was a reason he'd told himself to call ahead. Not really even that deep down, he'd just known something would go wrong… something, yet again, that would prevent him from obtaining that incidental little signature.

What had he ever done in this life, or the one previous, to get saddled with Shawn Spencer?

"What happened?"

The doctor finished injecting half a syringe of fluid into the young man's IV before turning away from his unconscious patient.

"He had an attack of vomiting last night. Apparently he'd suffered through several bouts in the last few days because it caused tearing in the mucosa at the confluence of his stomach and esophagus."

Lassiter tilted back his head. "Doctor, you may have noticed I'm not wearing a white lab coat."

The doctor nodded, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. "My apologies. Basically, he began vomiting up blood. We were going to see if it could heal on its own, but the bleeding continued to worsen, so I used a heated endoscope to cauterize the tear. He'll need to remain on fluids until we're certain the bleeding has stopped. Don't worry though, it's very rarely a fatal condition."

Feeling a tightness in his throat, Lassiter's eyes unerringly drifted towards the middle of the floor. The blood had been cleaned, but there were still a few brownish stains in the cracks of the linoleum. "How long will he be out?"

Taking a quick glance at the clipboard resting on the edge of the bed, the doctor made a small notation at the bottom. "Well, I just gave him a dose of Trazodone, so he'll likely be under for several hours." He walked around the end of the bed, hanging the clipboard on the small hook jutting from the frame.

Lassiter dropped his arms by his sides. "Very well." He started to turn when he paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Doctor, you wouldn't also be treating his father would you? Henry Spencer?"

The other man nodded. "As it so happens…"

"How's he doing?"

The doctor walked past the detective, pulling the door open and gesturing with his hand. "I'm just going to see him now, why don't you join me, and you can ask him yourself."

0o0o0o0o0

The first thing he noticed was that no trace of the far-too-even tan remained. The man also appeared to have aged a good twenty years as well. If he wanted to check into Glorious Pines now, that wouldn't be a problem.

"Henry."

The older man looked from his perusal of the window to glare at the Head detective angrily.

"Detective. Would you mind telling this son of a bitch that I'd like to pay a visit to my kid?"

Tactful as always, he hadn't truly expected a different response.

"How's your…"

"Fine, this is a hospital after all, they have things like pain medication available whenever you want it." He crossed his arms. "Now, are you going to get a wheelchair or am I walking?"

0o0o0o0o0

Henry stopped paying attention to the other men the moment his chair came to a rest by Shawn's side. The kid was a wreck. His cheeks were hollow, and slightly grey- a counterpoint to the shadows lurking beneath his eyes. His even breaths hardly seemed to lift the thin sheet draped across his chest.

But he _was_ breathing…

When Henry had last seen his son, the kid had been leaning over him in that… place. His eyes had been red-rimmed, and there'd been something… something not right… something out of place… But wrapped in his own pain, Henry had no time to question it before Shawn had disappeared again. He'd listened intently, hearing the rough scrape as his son moved across the floor. Then, there'd been a hesitation, the sound of splashing, and a pained gasp. Then the sound of movement once again as Shawn worked his way towards the stairs.

There'd been a very long period of silence after that… his body growing colder the longer he lay on the floor, his shirt soaking through with blood and water.

Finally though, the cops had arrived.

He barely remembered the conversation he'd had with Lassiter before succumbing to unconsciousness.

He did remember waking up in the ambulance, and immediately demanding to see Shawn. He'd been told, however, that Shawn was in a separate vehicle. And then he'd gone out again. He'd awoken twice more after that, each time making the same demand, and each time being rebuffed before passing out.

"How… how is he doing?"

He saw the doctor shift in his peripheral vision. "Your son is doing very well- his injuries, once we removed that atrocious mockery of a stitch job, have been healing very nicely. In another week, we'll see how he does with a crutch."

"What about… has he spoken at all about…"

Lassiter took over for the doctor then. "I took his statement Henry. He's shook up… but he seems like he's doing okay. He was more worried about you to be honest."

Reaching out to clasp Shawn's fingers gently, Henry shook his head. "Trust me detective, I know my kid better than you. Whatever my son might have told you, he's not okay."


	11. A Chill

Juliet O'Hara cupped her body tightly into the couch. Her cats streamed around her, mewling, begging, demanding food even though both bowls had recently been filled. Listlessly she let her hand glide out, palm down, to have a soft head push up against her skin in a raptured purr. Aimless she scratched at the white triangle ears poking between her fingers. At her feet, a grey form lobbed its body against her ankle, curling its tail around her calf, only to slink away when she reached down for a pat.

Pulling back into herself, she gazed across the room, eyes fixed somewhere between the potted Jade and the photo of her Academy graduation. From outside, light filtered through her curtains, bringing with it hints of warmth and a bright blue sky. But she remained tucked against her cushions, endless dragging her fingertips across the tiny skull, lifting long strands of fur, feeling the gentle upward bump when she reached the base of the tail, only to start the process all over again.

Numb was a perfect word. It encapsulated in four letters the entirety of her emotions. She hadn't cried, at the time… hadn't screamed… hadn't fainted.

She'd just listened.

_"Chief, O'Hara. That call I just received… it was from the morgue. I'd asked them to report back to me immediately if they… if they found evidence…" _

_"Detective?" _

_Juliet looked from Lassiter to the Chief, noting the slightly raised tone. Turning back to her partner, she frowned at the uncharacteristic manner in which he was speaking… hushed… halting… almost like he was giving them some really bad… And her breath caught. _

_"When they examined Lizbeth… they found sem… they found DNA in her body… Spencer's DNA…" _

_Juliet expelled air forcefully against her palm, wishing she could bring up her hands around her ears, hide away from the news… not hear it… and make it unreal… _

_"…Chief… Spencer was…"_

She pulled her hands back around herself, ignoring the slow tears that cut a path down her face, collecting in cold drops on her chin. The small white cat padded lightly across the back of the couch, butting her head against O'Hara's shoulder with escalating purrs. Ignoring the animal, she shivered with a sudden chill.

_"O'Hara, listen… I know it might be hard… but for a while, it might be best for you to not visit Spencer yet… until we see how he's handling this. You know the protocol for victims of rape… you know that sometimes… it's difficult for them to interact with people of the same gender as their attacker…"_

She'd been sickened by that… the barest notion that she had anything… anything in common with that monster… even if it was simply genetics…

She jumped when her phone rang. Scrubbing a sleeve across her chin, she rose to answer it.

0o0o0o0o0

The tongue he dragged across his flaking lips felt like a slice of overcooked steak- rubbery and dry. He couldn't yet identify what time it was, either night still, or the room lights had been kept dim. Either way, he was grateful for the darkness… feeling too much exposure in the light. He wasn't hurting either, another point of gratitude. Obviously whatever he was floating on was narcotic-laced.

Something moist and cold pressed against his forehead, and he turned towards the wonderful sensation. Sluggish blinking slowly brought the room into focus… as well as a much sought for face.

"Hey…"

"Hey yourself kid…"

He licked his lips again, closing his eyes once more as the cool moisture moved across the cracked flesh.

"Fraid you're on an IV diet for a while… your throat isn't up to anything solid just yet."

Shawn nodded, not really caring. He hadn't had any kind of appetite for… a while. The cloth lifted away, replaced by something gelatinous being spread across the broken creases, bringing sudden relief. Once his lips had been cared for, he felt a hand brush across his head. He managed not to cringe.

"Think you can handle some ice? It should help for the sore throat."

"It's not that sore right now…" but he accepted the small chips, letting them melt on his tongue before swallowing the sparse liquid. After three more mouthfuls he turned his head, and his father set the cup back on the side table before returning the cold towel to his forehead. Looking up at the older man, he noted how pale his cheeks were.

"You shouldn't be up, you look like you're gonna pass out… which means you'll fall on me… which would hurt."

His father chuckled, leaning back to fold his hands in his lap. "Trust me, the last thing I'm going to do is pass out just because I have this tiny little hole in my side."

The smile faded quickly though, and Shawn stared up at the ceiling as the air seemed to transform into wet sand. "Don't ask me to talk about it."

He heard a sigh… a tiny creak from the joints of the wheelchair.

"I won't make you do what you don't want to kid. But I won't let you swallow this up either. And don't think you were alone in this…"

_…but I was alone…_

"I just… need a little time… please…"

_…she hurt me dad… but you can't ever know how much…_

He could see the faint nod from the side of the bed. "Okay. But just don't shut me out…"

Shawn nodded… but didn't speak. The longer he was awake… the more it dug into him… the more he started thinking… remembering…

"…can… can you ask the nurse if… you know, my side is really starting to hurt…"

"I'll get the doctor, he's just down the hall."

"Kay…"

In fifteen minutes, he was sleeping again.

0o0o0o0o0

Officer Jud Smart couldn't keep the smile from his face. For the past week, he'd been very aware of the drama surrounding the psychic guy… from the disappearance of him and his father- a guy who clearly got the short end of the stick for a son- all the way to his rescue and hospitalization. And as always, whenever anything regarding the psychic occurred at the station, he was on top of it.

Yesterday, Head Pain Carlton Lassiter had gone to the hospital to get a statement from the young psychic. Upon returning to the precinct later that afternoon, his face had looked odd… even paler than normal. Immediately Smart had perked up. Something most definitely was going on. Trailing around behind a Head detective, even within the safety of the station, wasn't going to go unnoticed long. Still, Smart picked up enough from a few overheard and hushed conversations to ascertain that more than stabbing and a gunshot wound had occurred to these two men.

Earlier today, Lassiter had gone back to the hospital, but was gone an even shorter length of time. He'd looked clearly rattled dropping down at his desk, briefcase thudding to the floor with a clunk of hard leather. Though, rattled for Head Pain amounted to his tie being rumpled and his hair slightly lifted from combing his fingers through it.

He needed to see that statement. So far, though, it hadn't gone to the records room- meaning something was missing. And considering Head Pain's near manic insistence on perfection in his reports, it would remain with him until it _was_ completed. But something about this was too… juicy… to wait for. Somehow, Smart had to get a peek into that briefcase.

Now, picking the lock wouldn't be too complicated. Locks were designed to keep criminals out, not cops. The thing is, Smart considered himself a very good cop. Ordinarily, he'd never even float the idea of sneaking a peek at another officer's property. Everything was above board, everything was dealt with professionally, cleanly, and by the book.

And then he encountered Shawn Spencer.

God did that asshole piss him off. How many years had Smart sweated at the academy- walk a beat- dodge bullets, even take one in the elbow once. How many times had he watched others get bumped up the ladder ahead of him? Hell, even that lout Buzz McNabb got included on more cases. And he wanted to be a detective? What a joke! But when that little shit Spencer started getting all the cherries…

As far as he was concerned, whatever had happened to put the guy in the hospital had been a true blessing. And somehow, he had to figure out what it was.

0o0o0o0o0

Smart got his chance sooner than expected.

The call came in two hours after Head Pain had returned to the station. His partner was there by this point as well. Juliet O'Hara, now if that wasn't a piece of ass he wouldn't mind taking for a spin. How HP got saddled with not one, but two completely fuckable babes was beyond him. And as if there wasn't some real undercover stuff happening between these two. It was a well known fact around the station that Lass had bagged his previous partner, not that Smart could blame the guy in the least. He'd have willingly taken seconds on that one too. But if anything, Juliet was even more of a lay… just the thought of that sweat-soaked blonde hair spread out below him…

Shaken out of his musings, Smart watched the Chief stride from her office and gesture to her two detectives. In the pretense of going for a cup of coffee, Smart 'accidentally' dropped the files in his hands, right outside the Chief's door, but far enough back to not be seen.

"…ple homicide. I've already got two units en-route, but I need you there as well. Report back as soon as you reach the scene."

"Understood Chief."

"Oh, and Carlton?"

O'Hara paused near the door, and Smart risked being caught eaves-dropping to strain for the softer spoken words.

"When you stopped by the hospital today… did you…?"

"No, not yet. He was unconscious. I'll go by there tonight though and take care of it."

_Take care of what?_

"That's fine. I want to… I need to see it once it's complete."

"Yes Chief."

Time to go. Gripping the files in his hands, Smart stood smoothly and turned just as the two detectives exited the office.

Ignoring him, no surprise there, the detectives paused next to Lassiter's desk to grab his briefcase and jacket before walking swiftly for the door. Following in their wake, Smart had no trouble keeping track of them as they exited out the building and headed for the parking lot.

As for trailing them to the scene? Well, a deep red car did stand out quite nicely amongst the other traffic.

0o0o0o0o0

He waited for fifteen minutes until he was certain the detectives were completely engaged.

Breaking into the briefcase would be simple. Breaking into HP's car… that would require a little more finesse. Ever since his vehicle had been stolen, and Smart had laughed his ass off about that, Lass had upgraded the security on his car. Still, it was just a matter of knowing where to… got it! Sliding into a vehicle that smelled of old coffee and stale pastries, he leaned down between the seats and snagged the handle of the briefcase. It took three minutes to massage it open.

Flipping through the files within, bypassing a set of unsigned divorce papers, a few extra clips, and- oddly- a photo of a small girl and a yellow dog, he finally found the right file.

Flipping over the front cover, eyes widened in appreciation of the stark photos of Spencer's injuries. His face, actually, wasn't so bad. His side was worse, and leg was a carved roast. But the shot of his groin made pinch his knees together in discomfort.

Certainly not in sympathy though.

Then he started reading the statement.

Good God in heaven…

**Q. What happened after your father was shot. **

**A. She [Lizbeth Garfield took off her pants and underwear. She kicked me in the leg and said, 'where are you trying to go? Don't tell me this has gotten old for you, I thought you enjoyed playing the bitch.' She then kicked me in the side and restrained my right wrist in one of the straps from the table. When she turned away, I tried to break free. She caught me, and pistol whipped me across my cheek. While I was woozy, she tied my wrists together with rope. **

**Q. What happened then. **

**A. She sat on my lap and said, 'I did that for Lizbeth to get vengeance for her. She'll have that once daddy's cold. So as far as I'm concerned, I've done my part. And now it's my turn to do what pleases me.' **

**Then she said, 'it won't be so bad sweetheart, deep down I know you've been wanting this, you proved that twice. Why else would you be so responsive.' Then, she licked my chest and said, 'do you think you can scream for me this time? Do you think about me when I'm gone, wanting me, lusting for me.' After that she reached down and grabbed my crotch. I asked her to stop, I told her it hurt. She pulled down my pants, and told me it would fade.**

Scanning through the so-called rape, Smart flipped another page until he came to the end.

He studied the words in shock for a few minutes, astounded, before becoming aware of his surroundings once again. He couldn't believe his luck! This was the one, he could feel it!

He found he was chuckling softly even as he laid the pages out and readied his camera phone.


	12. Falling Down

"Your dad said they're letting you out tonight… that true?"

Shawn nodded, rubbing at the point where the IV had been inserted a few hours ago. "Yeah. I'm just supposed to take it easy for about a week… so I suppose that means the, uh, hang gliding is out."

Gus leaned back, rubbing his hand over his lips. "Shawn, are you sure you're okay?"

Pressing back into his pillow, Shawn built a smile on shifting sand. "I'm fine. Do you think smoothies count as part of a liquid diet?"

Gus shrugged. "I guess… though they do contain fruit…"

Coughing, Shawn groaned at the coppery trace lurking in his throat. He'd been warned there might be some residual bleeding, and that he had to try to control his coughing. The unstated advice was to not throw up if he could help it. What they didn't tell him was that the metallic taste alone could made him nauseous.

"Did you get me my clothes?"

Gus reached behind himself for the duffel on the floor. "Yeah, though why you want long sleeved in this weather…"

"I'm... I feel cold… still. I'm fine though." He insisted, seeing the argument brewing in his friend's eyes.

Standing up, Gus set the bag on the edge of the bed. "I'll let you get changed, the doctor will probably be here in about forty five minutes."

Shawn nodded. "Thanks. Oh, and hey… I know dad is supposed to stay here longer, and knowing him he'll fight it. But could you try to convince him anyhow?"

The other man's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "You want me…"

Shawn nodded.

"To talk to your dad…"

Another nod

"Instead of you?"

Shawn managed to build a slightly more convincing smile. "Good summarizing Gus. I'm glad to see you still have my back."

Muttered words were the only response as Gus slid from the room. Waiting until the door was fully shut before dropping the upward twist of his lips, Shawn slowly lay back on the mattress. Well if he had forty five minutes, he was certain a five minute nap wouldn't be held against him.

0o0o0o0o0

Henry stretched, wincing at the still too fresh wound in his side. Just this morning he'd been watching over his son while he slept, worried about his mounting medical problems. Then, suddenly, the doctors said Shawn could go home. Yet somehow, they had the gall to suggest Henry had to stay a few more days.

He wanted to see what breed of medical personnel could enforce that one.

Tugging aside his blanket, dropping his feet to the tile, he stood carefully and started to walk, one hand clutching the back of his gown.

And damn it, he did not need his wheelchair.

0o0o0o0o0

Lassiter rubbed his eyes as he and O'Hara walked through the crime scene. It was really awful what humans could do to one another. The body of the wife had been found with multiple lacerations, a few of the cuts going deep enough to gouge into bone. She'd been left to bleed in the master bedroom along with her sixteen year old daughter. The father had been found in the garage, his head crushed by what looked like repeated blows from a tire jack. The progress of events seemed to point to a blitz attack on the man, likely more than one assailant. After killing him, they proceeded inside where they accosted the two women.

The attack seemed to have gone on all night, beginning in the kitchen, then proceeding upstairs. Spatters of blood decorated the carpets, the railing, the walls…

Closing his eyes a moment, pushing down the part of himself that had so recently been brought to the surface, he turned the switch on his emotions.

In three minutes, he was barking orders like nothing in his life had ever changed.

0o0o0o0o0

Officer Smart's voice sounded excited over the phone, and the man behind the desk couldn't help but feel a bit of disgust at the tone. Still, the cop had his uses… and this proved it more than anything else he'd seen before.

"_So… what-do-ya think? I mean, especially what he states at the end. It sounds… compelling."_

He leaned forward and stared at the images loaded onto his screen. Though grainy from the phone's small camera, they were easy enough to read. "Even better, it sounds like guilt." He responded, smiling.

But what really had his attention, was the blank line just after the word 'signature' at the bottom.

"How much time do we have?"

"_The Head D and his partner will probably be at the scene for several hours, it was pretty horrific."_

Leaning back in his chair, tucking his arm around his waist, he nodded. "Good. Call the coroner immediately, I want a sample drawn for our records. After you do that, I want you to stop by the hospital. You have a prisoner to take into custody."

"_What are the charges?"_

Prosecuting attorney Warren Phelps gazed at the final few words on the screen.

**Q. After the attack, what happened? **

**A. She seemed like she was scared, and she hit my chest before sliding off of me. She screamed 'no', and said 'don't touch me.' She started to cry, and kept repeating 'you promised'. Then she looked at me, and asked 'why', and said she'd tried to help me. Then she put the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.**

He raised the phone to his mouth. "Wrongful death…" Tipping back, propping his feet up on the edge of his desk, he felt the subtle warmth of impending vindication. "And first degree rape."

0o0o0o0o0

"I'm not staying at the hospital Guster, and that's final!"

Long having known it was a lost cause, Gus groaned, allowing the older man to brush by him on his way to the nurse's station. A few cops were hovering at that station as well, but stepped away as Gus approached. Barely giving them a glance, he jogged after the older man who, in spite of his injury, had managed to get quite a ways ahead of him.

"Look, all I'm saying is that a wound like that needs professional monitoring…"

"Well I'm not planning any fishing trips in the near future- and I can sit on my ass at home just as easily as here. Besides, I know my son put you up to this, so why not cut the bull and go tell him we're leaving in twenty minutes."

0o0o0o0o0

Shawn was apparently receiving company- or so it appeared when Gus got back. The two officers he'd passed downstairs were standing just inside the room, blocking his view of his friend. One of the men was speaking as he pushed open the door.

"…to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford and attorney, one will be appointed for you."

Gus's mouth dropped open. "Hey…!"

"Do you understand these rights as they have been stated to you at this time?"

"Hey, what are you…"

Shawn's head was lowered, the little bit of his face that was visible was white as chalk. "Yes."

"Shawn, what's going on! Hey take those handcuffs off him!" Barging forward thunderously, Gus felt a solid arm brace against his chest and shove him back. The breath puffing against his smelled strongly of garlic and gingivitis. "Get away from my friend, you have to let him go- he didn't do anything! Shawn!"

Garlic breath glanced over his shoulder, nodding to the other officer who started to pull Shawn out of the room, half supporting him as the younger man limped in torment, his face pinched above his clenching jaw.

"Shawn!"

"Sorry pal," Said the heavy cop still holding him against the wall. "I hate like hell to be the one to tell you this, but your friend is a rapist. You'll probably want to prepare your goodbyes, cause I'm afraid it will be a very, very long time before he gets out again."

_Rapist… what in the hell??!_

Gus shoved the cop's bulk until he could squeeze past him. Hitting the door with a slap, he rushed down the hallway towards his friend. "Hey! Stop!"

The cop paused and Shawn stumbled a little until he could brace himself against the wall. His breath gusted in and out rapidly, and there was a slick mist of sweat across his face.

"…Gus… get-get my dad… and call Lassiter…"

The heavy cop knocked Gus aside, locking his hand around Shawn's upper arm. "Let's go Hollis, I want to get this done before the game comes on."

"Gus! Get my dad! Get my dad!"

The frantic cry extinguished as Shawn was loaded on an elevator and the doors closed on his anguished face.

0o0o0o0o0

Officer Smart leaned over the desk, staring at the pale face of the man sitting before him. Everything about the guy radiated guilt- the way his eyes were averted, the tenseness of his shoulders… He ground his teeth together. This punk deserved everything that was coming to him.

"Why did you do it?" He asked softly. He'd never been much of a ball buster. As far as he was concerned, most criminals didn't respond well to threatening, over the top behavior. He left that sort of crap to guys like Lassiter. No, he'd always found that the 'bees to honey' approach worked better.

"Do what?"

Not an unexpected response, it was still early in the interrogation after all.

"It's okay, it's okay. I mean… it happens right? Pretty girl like that… comes on to you… next thing you know, you start making out… you thought it was a sure deal… but then she blindsides you… suddenly doesn't want it…"

"You're insane! I'm the one that didn't want it…!"

"Alright, I understand…" Inwardly he smiled. They always ended up talking whether they wanted to or not. "Tell me how it happened."

"You already have my statement."

Pulling out a chair, Smart sank into it with a sigh. "Yes… true… but still, if you could indulge me, I want to hear it for myself. Look, I won't make you repeat the whole thing… just tell me what happened at the end."

The other man looked up, his eyes dark. He seemed to be struggling with his answer… vacillating back and forth. Smart simply waited, it was just a matter of time… the instinctual need to confess was his best friend.

Finally, the kid blew out a fractured breath.

"Aft-after she… after she was… _done_… she seemed like she was afraid…"

0o0o0o0o0

Karen Vick was livid as her heels cracked across the polished floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

Officer Smart slid the keys in his pocket as he exited the holding cell. "I believe it's called booking a prisoner…"

"You have no right to arrest Shawn Spencer, nor do you have the right to do so without consulting me first- there's a hierarchy to be followed here!"

The man shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry Chief, I got my orders directly from DA Phelps. He found sufficient evidence…"

"That's groundless! Mr. Spencer already gave a statement that he was the one assaulted!"

"And Warren Phelps will examine that statement, as well as any other evidence gathered from the scene." He took a step closer, his thumbs tucked in his pockets. "I know you don't like this… for whatever reason, you consider this lowlife to be a friend. But as far as I'm concerned, he raped that woman. And as much as you don't like it, you have to follow procedure too, just like the rest of us."

Karen clenched her hands into fists, radiating barely contained fury. "I promise you, when this is over, you'll be lucky if you can write a ticket for an illegal lemonade stand."

Smart grinned. "Possibly… but that's assuming they manage to find him not guilty."

He started to walk past, but Vick stopped him with an upraised hand.

"He gets a private cell. He does not go into general lockup. Understood?"

Frowning slightly, Smart conceded. "Whatever you say."

0o0o0o0o0

The bandages had helped, but his wrists still ached from the pinch of the cuffs. He rubbed his hand across his neck, grimacing. His throat hurt too… every time he swallowed, and he felt a resurgence of the persistent cramp cutting through his gut.

How many times would he be forced to relive this to someone else? When he'd spoken to Lassiter, he'd still been mildly druggy, making it easier to stay objective… cold… distant.

But now, still frozen in shock at his arrest, he'd been unable to keep the small tremor from his voice and hands. Nor could he deny that there was something really wrong with the way he was being interrogated. Smart seemed just a little 'too' friendly, too sympathetic as he cajoled him to share the experience. He'd resisted, irritated that they didn't just trust his earlier statement. But still… if this would get them to realize the mistake they'd made…

So he'd given in, feeling sick with guilt as he shared, yet again, the way Mae had vanished, leaving a terrified child behind… a child who'd felt as ruined as he had… so destroyed that she didn't even hesitate in pulling the trigger and splashing her brains all over the basement wall.

He'd felt like he couldn't breathe towards the end… and Smart had leaned over, started to pat him on his folded hands. Startled, he'd lashed out, his fingernails grazing across the other man's chin. Seconds later he'd found himself slammed against the wall, breath vacating him completely as his side shrieked in vicious agony. Dimly, he'd felt the cuffs pinched around his wrists. Then, stumbling on his throbbing leg, he was half dragged from the room.

He wasn't completely there as his fingerprints were taken. His mind was elsewhere as he was made to hold a small placard before a flashing light. Only vaguely did he remember the slow, painful tread down the hall, hearing the mocking calls of other prisoners…

When he finally slipped back to himself, he was in a cell, wrists free, and sitting on a cot.

There was an echoing screech as the heavy metal door at the end of the hall pulled open. The steady clack clack clack of Karen Vick's distinct stride soon brought the matronly Chief into view. Her face looked stiff with combined sorrow and anger.

"Mr. Spencer…"

"You here to spring me?"

She dropped her eyes for a second before looking up again. "Your father and Gus are upstairs… I know you probably want to see them…"

"No… not right now…"

"Mr. Spen… Shawn… I know you want to keep what happened to you private. But if this goes to trial…"

He looked up again, his brows pulled together in confusion. "How can it? You took my statement… there's clear documentation of what Mae… what that woman did to us…"

She shook her head. "I know… and you're probably right…"

"Don't put a 'but' on that."

Her mouth still open, she rolled her eyes, managing a washed out smile. "I spoke to Detective Lassiter- he and O'Hara are on their way here now. He knows of an excellent lawyer…"

Nodding, Shawn slid back further on the cot. "You shouldn't waste your time… this is just a mistake."

She asked again if he wanted to speak to Gus or his father. With a shake of his head, he turned away.

Eventually, he heard her leave.

0o0o0o0o0

The sun had moved a little, dragging the shafts of light across the floor in long pale stripes. At his back, he could hear Lassiter shifting back and forth.

"They confiscated your statement… we were required to provide a copy for the DA's office…"

Shawn rolled his shoulder, his hand dropping to rub lightly at his leg. "Well then it's on record at least…"

"Look, I screwed up Spencer! I never got your signature!"

Shawn turned, sliding his right leg delicately to the floor. "Lassy, chill- I can still sign it, it's fine…" His words stopped at the look in the other man's eyes.

"No… no it's not."

Lassiter raised his hands to cup the back of his head, his face turning to the side.

"They informed me ten minutes ago… that they're throwing out the statement… improper processing…" The words seemed to flow like glue, apparently tasting like it as well if his expression was anything to go by. Then, he slowly dropped his arms, turning flat eyes back towards the cell.

"You're being arraigned tomorrow… Superior Court… nine a.m."


	13. Wake Me Up

"DAMMIT DETECTIVE, NOW YOU TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON WITH MY SON!!"

Henry bulled forward until Lassiter's legs bashed against the edge of his desk. Behind them both, Gus looked utterly bewildered, his eyes snapping back and forth as though wanting to either pull Henry back, or wait to see what the detective would say.

As for the detective, he glared down, stone-faced, at the furious expression inches from his chin.

"I'm sorry Henry, I don't have anything to tell you…"

"Like hell you don't…"

"Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster, would you come into my office please?"

The non-requesting request was gentle, but edged with steel. Hesitating a second longer, noting the intense look the Head detective leveled at his Chief, Henry finally backed away.

Gus fell by his side, his fingers moving constantly as he curled and uncurled loose fists. "Mr. Spencer, what's going on…"

He didn't answer… could barely talk as something vile boiled deep in gut. _Dammit kid, what didn't you tell me…_

Karen stood by the door as they entered, then closed it firmly, pausing to yank down the shades. The vile sensation began to spread.

Gesturing to the chairs before her desk, Karen sat on the polished wooden edge. Gus sat down, Henry didn't. When he saw the older man had chosen to remain standing, Gus started to stand again. Karen held up her hand. "Please, Mr. Guster, I really think you should stay in your chair."

Dropping back down, Gus turned fearful eyes on the Chief. "Why, what's happening… is Shawn okay? Was the wound worse than they thought?"

"Gus…" Henry paused, unable to continue… dreading what the knowledge would do to the young man. How could he take away that glint of childhood innocence his son used to possess? But worse, much worse… was the fear of what Karen was about to say.

"How much do you know, Gus, of what happened?" She asked delicately. Suddenly feeling weak, Henry bent his knees and let himself drop in the chair to cover his face with his hands. He couldn't bear to watch another heart shatter.

"He was stabbed… a couple of times… And she made him go without food or water…"

Karen sighed. "Gus… Lizbeth Garfield was a very sick woman… she suffered horrible abuse as a young girl, and it had a devastating impact on her psychologically. Sometimes, people who are hurt as children… sometimes they don't know how to act when they grow up…"

"Dammit Karen, stop trying to make it easier…" Said Henry with weak anger. His voice was shaking already, and he dropped his arms to let them dangle between his knees. Still staring ahead, aware of the gaze directed at him now, he spoke.

"Gus, Lizbeth hurt Shawn…" he swallowed, starting again. "She touched him… she molested him…" he paused again… aware of Gus's rapid breaths.

"D-did she… did she…"

Henry looked up at Karen, who nodded her head. "Yes. After you were shot Henry, when you were unconscious… she raped him."

He was hardly aware that he'd started choking out ragged gasps as he leaned forward, his shoulders shaking horribly as he covered his eyes with his hands. Distantly, he could hear Gus retching- and Karen's soft spoken assurances.

_No… God no…_

And everything… all the furtive looks when Shawn thought he didn't notice… every time he'd flinched at an unexpected touch… all the times he'd said 'I'm fine'…

…his son… Shawn… the kid who wouldn't grow up… the kid who breezed through life with a wild grin, untouched by the wickedness around him… a cauldron of blazing exuberance and life…

_She raped him… she raped my son…_

The room felt to close suddenly. Pushing upright, ignoring Karen, he limped to the door.

"I need to go… get home… I need to get home…"

"Henry, wait… what about…"

_I can't see him… not right now… not when it's my fault this happened to him…_

Without answering, he pushed out the door.

0o0o0o0o0

Shawn was still facing the corner of the room when the door behind him slammed open.

He recognized that step, recognized that breathing… ragged now, and pained. He didn't think there were any more pieces of him left that could break.

_He knows…_

"Why didn't you tell me!!! Why Shawn!!"

_Because I wanted something to still be normal… even if it was pretend…_

"I couldn't."

"That's a stupid reason Shawn! I'm your best friend!"

He drew in a couple of sharp breaths, his hands rising to clasp his elbows… eyes fixed on the solid brick that filled his vision.

"I know…"

"You should have said something…!"

"Like what!" He snapped, whirling painfully, not caring about the biting sting the movement brought. "How did you expect that little exchange to go Gus, huh? Maybe start off with some light banter… 'How was your weekend Gus? Just fine Shawn, went on a date, watched some penguins on the Discovery Channel. How about you? Me? It was great- I got kidnapped, stabbed repeatedly, watched my father get shot- Oh, and as a special bonus, I was raped!"

Panting, arm wrapped tightly around his midsection, he watched as the emotions buckshot across his friend's face.

Finally, his face slightly greenish, Gus turned and grabbed the door handle. He paused for just a second, breathing in and out, then wrenched open the door and walked through, not once looking at his friend.

And the door slowly worked shut, Shawn tilted his head back and closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He really couldn't blame Gus for wanting to put some distance between them. After all, he wasn't the same person Gus had made friends with over twenty years ago. Hell, from the very brief glimpses he'd caught of himself in mirrors, he barely even looked like that guy.

No… the only thing left of what he was, was his name. Lying back down on the cot, easing carefully to his side, he pondered the idea of a body existing without a soul. He wondered where it had gone. Was it nearby? Had it flitted into another dimension… or gone on ahead through that so-called white light?

And was there any possibility of him ever getting it back?

Bleak imaginings his only company, he finally drifted off.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

She stood just outside his cell, hands clasped around her elbows. For the past fifteen minutes she'd watched the troubled respirations as he slept. She bled for him, and nearly broke when she thought of that very first day…

_"Uh, excuse me… you're in my seat…" _

_"Am I?" _

_"Actually, yes you are…"_

She'd thought he was a bit of a weirdo… Okay, a lot of a weirdo. And that imitation he did of her… God…

But a year had gone by… and another… and he was still a weirdo, and he still drove her nuts but…

_"…Shawn, what are you doing…" _

_"…nothing…" _

_"…really? Because if you're doing what it looks like you're doing…"_

A fleeting moment, his lips had pursed, pressing incrementally closer… and her heart had raced, and she'd wondered if he'd heard the way it had hammered in her throat. And in that fleeting moment, she'd almost leaned in… almost completed it… almost let him take her right there on her desk, fingers clawing and bodies meeting in sweating passion because suddenly she'd wanted it, wanted it so bad it hurt!

But she'd stopped…

"_Shawn… what are you doing…?"_

…_it's_ _a mistake… we're just friends… I don't want to wreck this…_

And he'd pulled back… because he'd never force… never hurt… never take… but wait to be asked… wait till she was ready… no matter what he wanted…

And to see what they were doing to him now… accusing him of doing…

"…d…don't…"

She straightened quickly, noting the sweat that had broken out along his jaw. His head rolled to the side, then back again in agitation. His hands lifted slightly by his sides, fingers clenched in fists, and Juliet was painfully aware that she was watching him re-live his attack.

"Shawn…"

"…no… no please…" his face crumpled as tears started to flow down his face, soaking into the pillow beneath his head.

"Shawn… wake up Shawn…" She didn't want to yell… didn't want to startle him… but his chest was heaving so fast…

"… stop… it hurts… it hurts… it hurts…" he wept pleadingly, the tendons standing out on his neck.

"Shawn…" her voice cracked as her own tears threatened at the sight of his distress.

"Shawn! Wake up!"

In mid-cry, he lurched from the cot and scrambled to the corner, hugging his arms around himself with his legs half-bent before him.

Several rough breaths dragged out of him before he finally seemed to focus on her standing there.

And he flinched.

"J-Jules…"

Feeling like she'd been slapped, Juliet carefully eased away from the bars. "Shawn…"

"Please don't…" He turned his face away, still panting as the dream, _memory,_ slowly shook from him.

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't… _God_ don't say that…" he rasped.

Nodding, her eyes creasing painfully before she forced it back with a sniff, she moved to the door. "I should… Lassiter probably…" His face was still turned away, so she eased open the door and slipped out, endless regret crushing her.

0o0o0o0o0

He was alone again.

They always left.

_You always chase them away_…

Shut up! He didn't want to hear his father's rejoinder smacking him in the back of the head right now. And anyway, where was his father? He hadn't seen him since his arrest.

_"I'm not going to abandon you. Just don't give up kid…"_

Apparently some promises came with limits.

His eyes lifted back to the bars, to the place Juliet had been standing. The sight of her… the smell… she still drove him crazy. But now… he felt fear too… and a clogging revulsion at the knowledge she had about him.

That he was…

_…sickening… how could you let_…

He curled his body over his knees.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Superior Court, Santa Barbara, 9:32a.m.**

Shawn stared straight ahead, ignoring the glances of his father, ignoring the subtle smirks of Phelps, ignoring the arguments taking place over his head.

Half an hour of hearing his statement to Smart tugged back and forth between the two attorneys like a child in a custody dispute and he was ready for a breather.

He was furious with himself for the stunted version of his attack that Phelps now used as a rope to hang him. If he'd just told the whole story… just once more… then it would be on record. But now… now, finally, he could see how he'd been manipulated. He was so stupid.

When Lassiter had appeared outside his cell that morning, he'd been startled, and very nervous, to see that his lawyer was a woman. But swallowing back his fight that was leaning very much towards flight response, he'd forced himself to shake her hand. Her name was Martha Clark. Mid forties, reddish-brown hair graying in spots… she'd projected authority without being intimidating. When she'd spoken, regardless of the conversation, she'd been… there was no other word for it… courtly. And incredibly professional.

It'd taken about an hour, but finally Shawn had been able to begin relaxing in her presence. After that first handshake, she hadn't attempted any other touches… keeping an average of three feet between them.

Going over the documentation of the case, she'd been enraged.

"What Phelps is doing is absolutely reprehensible! If I had a say in the matter he wouldn't see the inside of another coffee shop, much less a courtroom!"

Mutely, Shawn had sat in his chair, letting her plan the argument, the details, the myriad other things that would need to be in place before tomorrow. All he could think about was how badly he'd failed. He should have seen it. Any child could have. But he'd been completely blindsided…

"… like to request a brief recess your Honor." Shawn glanced up in surprise. The digital clock at the front of the courtroom read 10:13. Had he really zoned out for that long?

"Granted. Let's make it fifteen minutes." Gavel fall, and everyone in the room stood as the Judge rose and retreated to his room.

Suddenly feeling the closeness of the bodies moving around him, Shawn rubbed his wrists. "I… is it okay if I use the restroom?"

Officer Smart approached, cuffing his hands in front of him. "Come on- I'll take you."

Though he would have accepted almost anyone else rather than let the portly officer lead him, he merely dropped his head and walked for the door.

0o0o0o0o0

Smart made sure the room was empty before letting him enter, then stood outside while he walked through the door.

Realizing he actually did have to go, he delicately took care of business, then walked back to the sink to rinse his hands. As the water cascaded over his fingertips, he heard the door open behind him. Looking up, he saw Smart's reflection in the mirror.

"I'm almost done… I'll be right out."

Smart walked up beside him and stretched out his hands under a separate sink, rubbing his fingers vigorously under the tap. "Don't worry… you've got another seven minutes left." Turning off the faucet, he walked to the towel rack and tore off a hunk, blotting at his hands slightly before tossing it at the trash. He missed, but didn't bother picking it up.

Shutting off the water on his side, Shawn shook droplets off his own fingers as he started for the towel dispenser. Smart blocked his way.

"Let me by…"

"I know your type." Interrupted the heavier man. Shawn took a step back, instantly nervous.

Following directly after him, the officer continued. "You know, it's all bullshit… what you said before. Yeah… I saw your file, that cute little story you told the Head Dick. It was amusing… I almost wet myself reading it… in more ways than one I might add."

Gasping in sudden stress, Shawn squeezed shut his eyes and kept walking backward until his spine collided with the wall.

"You actually want to claim that little girl raped you? You're kidding right? Son, everyone knows men don't get raped… they get lucky…"

The bigger man pressed closer still, placing a thick hand on the wall next to Shawn's head. Then he laughed, the gust lifting some of the hair on Shawn's forehead. "Little boy… you got no idea what rape is… but you're going to find out." He leaned in close, pressing bodily against Shawn, shoving him against the tiles. Shawn's heart raced, his throat starting to close.

"Please… please don't… please don't…" he could feel it, the memory of that hot breath panting heavily… clawing fingers gouging into his shoulders… hips slamming against him while he cried in shame and fear…

_"**Please don't, Please don't- ha!**_ Mocked Smart, his voice dropped to a hushed, rasping whisper. "You know what they do to rapists in prison don't you? With your big round eyes and sweet little ass… they'll be lining up to fuck your brains out." Swiftly, he jutted out his hand and gripped the Shawn around the waist, grinding against him.

_"**DON'T TOUCH ME!"**_ Shawn shoved at his bulk, panicked when he couldn't push him away, struggling against the tight grip.

"Come on… you gave it up so easily for that little girl… and I'd like a little piece before you're completely used up…" Was the excited reply as the hands tightened.

_"**STOP IT!! STOP IT!!"**_

Stepping away suddenly, Smart laughed when he collapsed to the floor.

"Don't worry kid… I bet you'll love playing the bitch."

His heels clapping, he started to walk from the room, then paused. "Oh… and I suppose I should mention that if you say anything about this… I guarantee that I'll find out first hand if you're as good a fuck as I've been reading about."

Shawn hardly noticed as the door banged shut on the man's exit. Shivering uncontrollably, he barely made it back into the stall.

His stomach convulsed horribly as he retched into the toilet… mostly acidic residue as he'd barely eaten in the past week. Still, he couldn't stop as wave after wave shook his frame. Sweat ran steadily down his face as he began dry heaving- and small drops of blood spattered against the seat- hitting the water and expanding out to pale pink circles.

0o0o0o0o0

Lassiter checked his watch, noting that the fifteen minutes was about to expire, and still there was no sign of Spencer. Damn it!

Grabbing Clark by the arm as she was headed back inside, he tipped his head. "Where did Spencer go?"

She gestured down the hall. "An officer took him to the bathroom… he should have been back by now though…"

Leaving her at the doors, he strode back down the hall and around a few corners until he finally reached the men's room. Smart was standing outside the door when arrived, a hand on the knob.

"Oh, thank God you're here! I heard him start gagging, and I was just going to go check on him…"

Lassiter could hear the terrible heaving sounds from within the bathroom, and hurriedly pushed open the door.

He found Shawn half collapsed over the toilet in the last stall, his face achingly pale, and body trembling furiously. Quickly removing his suit jacket, he draped it over the shorter man's shoulders. Jerking again, Shawn lurched forward and retched again, his body shaking with effort as every muscle tensed.

"Easy, easy, easy… slow down… just breathe… just breathe…"

He'd have given away his pension not to have to be standing here at this moment… listening to Spencer attempt to dislodge his spleen via upchucking.

"He okay?"

If possible, Spencer shivered even harder.

"He's fine, go tell the Judge he'll be back in five." He waited a beat, then glared over his shoulder. "This isn't one of your afternoon Soaps Smart- now get the lead out!!"

As the man turned to leave, for just a heartbeat, Lassiter swore he saw the tiniest smirk…

Then he was occupied once more as Spencer's body shuddered with his effort to gain back control.

"Come on… just take it slow… you're doing real good…"

The kid's body jerked a few more times, but with a shaking moan, he was able to quell the visceral response.

As the convulsive attack began to fade, the shaking became more prominent. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Lassiter half-dragged him from the stall and helped him sit up against the small divider next to the swinging door, grimacing at the blood spatter on his lower lip.

Snagging a paper towel from the dispenser, he wet it under the faucet before returning to wipe away the bright smears.

After a few moments of gasping, the young man's breathing finally began to slow. Lifting back his lids, Lassiter noted the dull expression. However, that was about all he noted, not possessing much knowledge beyond what to look for in case of a head injury, not to mention what poisons affected the color of the eyes.

When Spencer slowly blinked, the detective sat back on his heels. "What happened?"

Shawn breathed in a few more times, then swallowed. "It… nothing… just…" he pulled his arms more tightly against himself, looked distinctly embarrassed. "I'm fine."

Sighing, recognizing that closed off expression, Lassiter pushed himself upright and held out a hand. "If you think you can stand..."

Without a reply, Shawn let himself be hauled to his feet.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Shawn's hands remained loosely on his knees while the lawyers finished their arguments. He didn't turn his head, afraid that if he glanced around, he'd see the leering face of Officer Smart hovering over his shoulder. He couldn't shake the sensation that his skin was covered in a layer of grime… made worse by the repulsive obscenities breathed at him a short time ago. He felt desecrated all over again, and the memories wouldn't stop hammering in his brain.

_"All men want it…" _

_"…no…" _

_"if you beg… and he answers… I'll let you go… I swear it…" _

_"…please…" _

_"I think it's about time I got a little payback for my efforts, don't you…?" _

_"…stop…" _

_"Say, I want you to touch me. Say it... moan it! And convince me…." _

_"…help me… please…" _

_"…do you think you can scream for me this time? Do you think about me when I'm gone… wanting me… lusting for me…"_

"…duled to begin eight a.m. tomorrow morning. Next case."

Shawn blinked, sitting up slowly to swivel towards his attorney. "What… what just happened…"

She angrily stuffed her files into her briefcase. On the other side of the room, Phelps was shaking hands with another attorney over the rail. And he was grinning.

No…

"I'm sorry Shawn… that son of a bitch has more pull than I expected. But I swear to you, whatever it takes, we will fight this…"

No…

No…

No…


	14. Not With A Bang But A Whimper

A/N: kinneas, thank you for your observation. My initial research into court procedure missed some of the steps involved. I try to take a great deal of care into representing accuracy in all aspects of my stories, so it's bothersome to me when I miss a step. Hopefully the error can be overlooked. And thanks to everyone that has reviewed so far- this story was quite a challenge to write! And I hope you have some patience as there are about thirteen more chapters to go before the end! And then there's the sequel! (sheesh!) Anyhow, I'm thankful for your support!

Now on with the angst!

* * *

0o0o0o0o0

The eyes of the filled courtroom stared at him.

It was a supreme level of morbid curiosity that drew them… he knew… to watch the well publicized trial of Santa Barbara's resident police psychic. And he was sickened to acknowledge that sex was a big sell, whether forced or not.

He felt like a monster.

Yesterday, he'd actually had to have his attorney repeat the Judge's decision- blankly missing it the first time around. Bail had been set at ten thousand, and his father- with a bit of help from Gus, had immediately paid it and taken him home.

_He'd realized he hadn't been to his father's house since…_

There was a rustle as Phelps walked past the stand again, his arms folded.

"Mr. Spencer… indulge me a moment. According to the medical records we obtained on Miss Garfield, she suffered from a dissociative state- sometimes known as Multiple Personality Disorder. Did you encounter anything during your time with her that would point to a mental disability?"

"Objection, Mr. Spencer is not qualified to make a medical diagnosis."

"Sustained. Please rephrase the question Mr. Phelps." Said the Judge, folding his arms across his belly.

"Of course, my apologies." Said Phelps smoothly, clasping his hands at his back. "Mr. Spencer, did Miss Garfield ever seem to… act like a different person from time to time?"

Shawn scanned the room again, noting his father in the front row. He kept his eyes locked on the older man as he answered.

"Yes."

_"Why didn't you tell me Shawn…" _

_His father paced before him, his face slack… eyes reflecting the devastation that Shawn now existed in. _

_"I'm… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry dad…" _

_"God kid… don't you dare apologize…"_

Phelps walked in front of him, blocking his view.

"When you were, and please forgive the sensitivity of the question, engaged in intercourse with Miss Garfield… were you on the top or the bottom?"

"Objection!"

The Judge leaned forward. "Is there a point to this question Phelps? Or are you just trying to see how far you can push the patience of this courtroom?"

Phelps smiled. "Of course not your Honor. I simply want to verify Mr. Spencer's account of the attack."

"I'm not buying it, objection sustained. Move on Mr. Phelps."

_His father faced away from him, his hands braced on the sink as he stared down at the supper dishes… an attempted meal that neither one of them had eaten. _

_"I should be the one apologizing to you…" _

_Shawn stared out the sliding door, watching the leaves of the trees shifting in the light breeze, dappled shadows flickering the golden sunset across the lawn. _

_"You couldn't know… I didn't want you to…"_

"Did you thrust your hips at any point?"

Shawn gaped, his eyes wide as a burning flush spread across his face. "Did… did I what?!" he asked almost breathlessly.

_"I know it feels good…"Mae's hands slid down his body, grasping…_

"When you were- to put it bluntly, having sex with Lizbeth Garfield, did you, at any point, thrust into her body?"

_"I'd never hurt you baby…" Her eyes grew hazy… transported as she pressed her fingers down…_

Face blazing in choking humiliation, Shawn gripped the arms of his chair with shaking hands. "I… I…I…"

"Answer the question Mr. Spencer."

"I… I d-didn't want…I couldn't… I couldn't… s-stop… she… she made…"

_"St-stop… please… it hurts…" Sliding forward, jerking sharply… She pressed her cheek against his own. "It will fade…"_

"Yes or no will suffice."

"Y-yes, but…"

"And did you achieve an orgasm?"

_"…you think you can scream for me this time?"_

"Objection, relevance!"

Shawn's chest ached at the direction the questioning had turned. He fought to keep his breathing under control along with the flash of memories that snapped across his vision. It helped a little when he dug his nails into his palms…

"I'm trying to establish culpability your honor. It's a well-known medical fact that anxiety can impair the male body from gaining an erection. If Mr. Spencer was able, not only to achieve erection, but also carry through to an orgasm, it suggests active participation."

"Medical facts also show that an erection can occur just by sitting in a bumpy car! You can't base culpability on an involuntary response!" Said Clark in quick argument.

Shawn wanted to shut his eyes, aware of the spotlight of attention fixed on him from the rows and rows of faces surrounding him. Worst of all was the awareness of his father… Gus… Lassiter… and most degrading… Juliet, all staring at him… judging him…

The Judge glanced between the two attorneys, finally nodding to Phelps. "I'll allow the question, but watch your step."

Smiling, Phelps turned back to the stand. "So… Mr. Spencer. Did you, in fact, have an orgasm?"

Shawn felt rushing in his ears, and a sensation like he was sinking. Miserable, the feel of Mae's breath panting roughly, her body moving against him, he clenched his teeth- jerking a sharp nod.

"You need to speak your answer Mr. Spencer." Said the Judge gravelly.

_"Not good enough sweetie… I want to hear it. Say, I want you to touch me. Say it... moan it! And convince me…"_

His breath released shakily as he turned his face to the side, holding his arms around himself.

"Y-y-yes…"

"Did it feel good?"

"Objection! Your Honor…"

_"Oh… it won't be so bad sweetheart… deep down… I know you've been wanting this… you proved that twice. Why else would you be so… responsive."_

"You've been warned Phelps…"

"I'll withdraw the question."

He practically trotted as he walked back to his desk, grabbing a thick folder from the wooden surface. "At this time I'd like to submit this DNA report into evidence. The semen sample was collected during the autopsy of Lizbeth Garfield, and is a match to Mr. Spencer."

Shawn rubbed his palms over his face, desperately seeking balance, trying to control the small tremors in his arms, the jogging movement beneath his ribs…

Phelps was back, stepping closer to the stand… close enough that his cloying aftershave stung… burned…

"Tell me what Miss Garfield said, after you had sex."

He felt something thick in the back of his throat. _I hurt her… that child… it was my fault, my fault… _

"She… she screamed n-no… and started saying 'don't touch me'…"

Phelps flipped open his folder again, scanning down a page.

"Actually, according to your statement she screamed 'Don't touch me, don't touch me… you promised…' And further down you stated that she looked directly at you and asked 'why' before saying she tried to help you. Is that correct?"

Shawn swallowed, nodding.

"Once again, you need to speak your answers Mr. Spencer." Said the Judge sternly.

"Yes… that's correct." _I hurt her… I hurt her…_

"Who was in control when you reached climax Mr. Spencer?"

"Objection…"

"I'll rephrase. Mr. Spencer, do you _know_ who was in control when you climaxed?"

He rubbed absently at his wrist, his ribs feeling as though they were being crushed.

"I… I don't… know…"

"Is it possible… in any way…" asked Phelps gently, "that it was the Lizbeth personality that was, in fact, in control?"

Shawn was ill with the suggestion, but the memories of the event… how she'd suddenly pulled away… how she looked horrified… violated… by him. And what difference did it make anyway? Whether or not she was in control… she was present. And though Shawn had been tied down… forced… he still felt, in some way, that he'd been… in a twisted way… a partner in the defilement of that little girl… in her rape…

"I don't know…" He said huskily. _What did I do…_

"And immediately after she accused you, she killed herself… correct?"

Shawn hunched his shoulders. "Yes…"

"Nothing further your Honor."

"I couldn't… I…"

"That's enough Mr. Spencer. Miss Clark, do you wish to cross examine?"

"But I couldn't help…"

"Yes, thank you your honor."

_"I tried… I tried to help you…"_

He hardly paid attention to her questions, much less his own responses- his brain frozen on what Phelps had suggested… what he himself had been feeling…

"_Who was in control…?"_

"_It was you… wasn't it… you're sick… you couldn't even control yourself… you can't plead attack when you actively participated… you let it happen…_

"Thank you Mr. Spencer, please take your seat- now."

His limbs felt frozen as he limped from the box; hand gripping the handle of his crutch tightly as he determinedly kept his eyes fixed on the floor, the desk, his chair… anything to keep from seeing the disgust that must be on the faces of his friends… his father… and everyone else in the room.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The first day of questioning ended at four p.m.

Hunched in his father's truck, Shawn sat in silence as the vehicle moved through the shifting traffic, the radio murmuring softly as an announcer quoted highlights from some random game… though it could have been anything from basketball to ostrich racing for all he knew.

Several times the other man had turned his head towards him, but he'd silently deflected the unspoken words, curling away… flinching… and was finally, mercifully, left alone.

He was the first one out of the truck when it finally parked next to the house, bumping his crutch against the edge of the door as he clambered out.

"I need to use the bathroom." He said quickly, once more dodging whatever it was his father might have said as he struggled inside.

Locking himself in the bathroom he sagged against the door, sliding down until he was resting on the tiles. Pulling his legs up, he winced at the sharp bite in his left thigh as he draped his arms over his knees. Feeling the heavy pull of exhaustion after the wrenching day on the stand, he let his head drop forward onto his folded arms… and eventually drifted off.

0o0o0o0o0

He was achingly stiff when he finally woke up again.

Everything hurt as he grasped the doorknob above his head and pulled himself to his feet. His crutch was still leaning against the sink, and he grabbed it with two fingers, dragging it under his arm as he unlocked the door and slipped out.

In the living room, his father was spread out on the couch, snoring softly. The TV was on, but muted… as a commercial about breath freshener played against the backdrop of a mountain range.

Turning away, Shawn limped unevenly towards the kitchen, still smelling the leftover odor of last night's failed meal. It made his stomach roll unpleasantly.

Absently, he began opening drawers, digging through the various paraphernalia of his father's unusual past cooking attempts. Rubber spatulas, wooden spoons, plastic measuring cups… He frowned in confusion at the small metal object shaped like an old-fashioned magnifying glass without the glass.

With a sigh, he dropped the oddity back in the drawer.

Slowly, his eyes turned back to the window, watching the faded clouds on their methodical journey across the sky. And suddenly he wanted to be outside… needed to be outside, away from the pressure of the house… his father… his own mind…

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Lassiter clicked his door shut and flipped the lock with practiced unconsciousness.

God what a grueling day…

He'd thought Spencer was going to have a meltdown… and even knowing the way the game was sometimes played during questioning, he'd felt the slightest tightening of his biceps at the endless… cruelty…

Afterward, as he was pushing out the door, retreating towards the quiet sanctity of his car, he'd found himself walking next to the young man. The guy had been pale, but he'd appeared to have pulled himself more or less together again by that point. He had valiantly ignored the microphones jabbing into his face, the cacophony of the reporters as they all but salivated in their attempt to get the first question in. But it had been getting ridiculous- so Lassiter had finally pulled his badge, forcing them back with a few select words. They'd still hovered though, still tried to shout their questions, but at a farther distance.

They'd walked forward in silence for a few minutes, Shawn limping, and Lassiter altering his stride to match the stilted pace. Several steps back, Henry and Gus followed, partially blocked by the crush of bodies and streaming reporters.

"I'm sorry…"

Lassiter frowned. "What… why are you sorry Spencer? I mean, aside from that atrocious jacket."

The other man had smiled… and it had been almost genuine for the first time in ages.

"I'm sorry… you know… about the snowglobe thing…"

Lassiter had almost choked. "That was… I knew it!!" He'd ground out stiffly, feeling the sudden urge to use his tie as a garrote. "Dammit Spencer…"

"And I wanted to thank you… Thanks Carlton… for, for…"

Uncomfortable, Lassiter had shrugged his shoulders. "It's my job…"

He pulled himself from his musings as he walked through the silence of his house. Though he'd been here only a little over a year, it was really beginning to feel like home to him… an empty home, but home never-the-less.

Draping his suit jacket over the back of the couch, he placed his briefcase on the table before him and flipped the clasps. Digging through the files, his fingers brushed over the small Polaroid that had slipped up towards the hinges. Lifting it out, he sighed.

Then he leaned back against the couch and rubbed a hand across his face.

0o0o0o0o0

The heat was fading out of the sand, leaving a glorious warmth behind that traveled wonderfully along the backs of his legs. The tips of his toes just barely caught the light spray as the waves hushed up the beach, trickling in and around small indentations, before receding again in a chilly bubbly froth.

For the first time in ages he finally grasped a bit of peace, hearing the poignant rising call of seagulls as they drifted above, following the sun as it dragged across the sky. So many of his best memories seemed to be from the beach... chasing Gus with small hermit crabs… being chased by Gus with a baby octopus… building elaborate sand forts- _because guys did not build castles-_ girl watching with his grandfather… girl watching with Gus… jet skiing, surf-boarding, swimming…

He closed his eyes and tilted back his head, enjoying the reddish light that filtered through his lids.

0o0o0o0o0

The microwave dinged, and Lassiter unfolded himself from the couch, wrinkling his nose at the slightly burnt smell filtering from his premade dinner. Gross… nothing was more revolting than blackened mac and cheese.

Poking at the gluey noodles, he dropped the container back in the microwave and returned to the couch, picking up the small photograph again… staring…

0o0o0o0o0

His eyes followed other people for a while, watching them run back and forth further down the beach. They were laughing… blindly enjoying the sun, the waves, each other's company…

He was one of them once…

_"St-stop… please… it hurts…"_

He gasped, his fingers curling in the loose sand, small grains filtering through and spackling tiny diamonds at his sides. Even here, the voice followed… images rising as though from thick tar, viscous and rotting.

_"deep down… I know you've been wanting this…"_

"No…" He whispered, his hand dragging back and forth at his side.

_"Why… I tried… I tried to help you…"_

"I'm sorry…" he flinched at the memory of the gunshot, deafening inside his own head. Not looking, he reached out a little further, fingers searching… searching…

The handle filled his palm solidly, the smooth wood slightly heated from the rays of light cascading down. He pulled, and it slid easily from its sandy bed.

_"I know it might seem like you're going to win every time Shawn… but no matter how good you are… there's always somebody who's better…"_

"I'm sorry…"

Dragging up his sleeve, he placed the sharp tip against the inside of his elbow.

No wussy hesitation cuts… no girly slits across the wrist. He'd lay it open the full length, down to the bone. The thought of trying, only to wake up later in an ER, was abhorrent.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered again, though he wasn't completely sure who he was apologizing to this time. He just hoped… somehow… they could understand. He could fight any battle… he wasn't afraid to stand up for himself…

_"…I tried to help you…"_

Phelps might be a vindictive bastard, but he was right… he raped that girl… he raped her because he wasn't strong enough to stop… it was his fault… he had been too weak…

Gritting his teeth, he dug in the blade.


	15. It's Always Darkest

_"**SPENCER STOP!!"**_

The knife twitched at the shout, booming from just a few feet back.

_Lassiter... of course…_

"Go away." He said softly, his eyes focused on a distant ship as it broke the horizon. He felt the sharp sting in his arm… but then, that was what he was supposed to feel right? A lazy ribbon of heat drizzled down, spreading over the webbing between his fingers to patter on the sand inches below.

"Spencer… Shawn… just…"

"What… put the knife down? I thought you were above simple clichés Lassiter…"

"I'm not the one facing the setting sun with a knife lodged in my arm."

The man who shared his name would have had a comeback to that. The man that once saved another man from a similar fate would have shrugged… would have laughed…

And that man would have fought harder… would have resisted… wouldn't have let his mind and body be used… wouldn't have hurt a child… taken her body like that because he was such a damn piece of shit that he couldn't control himself…

But that man had died. And instead… there was a different man.

And he pressed down on the blade.

_"**STOP!!"**_

"I told you to leave…" The blood flow thickened slightly, the light patters interspersed with heavier drops. He felt tears, but they didn't matter any more. The pain didn't matter anymore… nothing mattered anymore.

He heard a sliding step, and widened the cut in response. The movement stopped instantly.

"I don't want to do this in front of you… but if I have to I will."

"What is this, the warrior's way? An honorable death to save your family from shame?"

"Just because you took my statement doesn't mean you have any clue what I…" _what I did…_ his brain supplied. And her face was there, eyes round with fear and horror… and far too easily he'd imagined that child… nine years old, butterfly barrettes, barefooted as she darted through the park… across the sand… And he saw himself as she must have seen him… a man, blood and sweat running down his face, gasping below her while his hips jerked… as he destroyed her…

"I know that whatever you're thinking is bullshit. Phelps has twisted this so far around that you probably believe the son of a bitch."

He didn't answer, his eyes locked on an unseen shore.

"The thing is, you want to believe him… because if he's right… you weren't a victim."

"That's not…"

"Are you really going to make me do this? You seem to hate clichés- well what about this… think about those that care about you. Gus, your father, for some God-only-knows-reason O'Hara… You seriously think they'll shrug this off as no big deal? You really are a selfish bastard."

_Jules… you can't possibly want me near you. _

_Gus. We had a great time… it was awesome… but now… now it can only hurt… _

_Dad…_

_When I woke up that day… that last day… and I remember how easy it was to just… play… I loved it so much… having fun… teasing… laughing… hanging with dad even when I pretended I didn't want to. But now, whenever I look at him… whenever he talks to me…_

That tightness was coming back, cutting into his chest, and he started to lift the blade again when a memory whip-cracked through his mind.

_"What do you think Henry, can he win?" _

_Steady grey eyes looked down at him, an expression… pride… flitting briefly… _

_"Yeah… he can win…"_

He choked, clenching his teeth. _No… no I don't want to… I'm just so tired… Please just let me go…_ But still… against the striving determination in his head…

The knife slipped free…hitting the sand with a grainy _ch'ck._

The other man was there in seconds, scooping it up and moving it out of reach.

He gazed quietly as he felt the light touch of fingers probing his arm… turning it slightly to expose the moderate flow. He flinched, once, as something wrapped around the gash… pulling tight.

He expected to be hauled to his feet, dragged across the sand, maybe even get forced- bodily- to the nearest crazy guy lodge to have his head shaved before stuffing him in a sack.

Instead, as he held his damaged arm in his lap, he felt the other man exhale shakily as he dropped down next to him in the sand.

Nothing was said for a time… both watched the water as it jumbled up the smooth incline of darker sand to tickle at the crumbling edges, only to recede away again, gathering for another try. And then he heard a rough breath.

"You ever try anything…" Lassiter growled as he cut himself off… his voice slowly steadying. "Spencer, the next time I see you pull any shit like this I will shoot you. Are we clear?"

Instead of answering, he turned his head to actually look at the man who'd charged to his rescue. The detective was rumpled, tie gone, his jacket lying in a single-fold heap a few feet away. Sand grains had collected on his face, clinging to the beads of sweat that ran muddily down the edge of his temples. More sand had filtered across his shirt, which had become untucked at some point. And he was missing a shoe.

All in all, the man… really needed a shower.

"How did you…?"

"You're asking me? I know you've been knocked down a peg, but I figure you and the spirits still chat."

Shawn narrowed his eyes, ready to close off again but… but he looked at the sand… studied it… followed the path along the direction he'd walked… where Lassiter had followed… and groaned. "My crutch… you saw the indents from my crutch…" He shook his head, feeling a fresh rush of humiliation… but this time at his own stupidity… and self-indulgent… _brattiness._

He'd tried to kill himself…

Oh God, he'd jabbed a knife in his arm…

Suddenly weak, he carefully eased down to his back, sinking slightly into the gritty heat.

"Spencer?"

"I'm okay… just tired…" _And feeling like a complete asshole._

Closing his eyes, he simply tried to blank out again. But it wasn't as easy this time as it had been a few minutes ago. _Because a few minutes ago, my existence was only going to last a few more _**_seconds_**_…_

Rather than deal with the new shame adding to the old, he turned his head. "I'd ask the, uh, spirits, but my head hurts too much to focus. How did you know I'd… that I'd…"

"You're kidding right? After that touching goodbye, 'see you in the next life' speech you gave at the courthouse? And since when do you call me Carlton?"

Shawn conceded. Good point. "Usually when you're too drunk to respond to anything else. But there has to be more than…"

There was a rustle, and then a small square photograph was held in front of him. He started to sit up, but gasped as he pushed with the wrong arm. Rolling his eyes, the detective braced his arm beneath his shoulders and pushed him the rest of the way. Once settled, listing just slightly to the left, he studied the picture more closely. It was a small blonde girl, arms wrapped around a yellow lab as she grinned toothily at the camera.

"Her name was Cammie. She was five when that picture was taken. Two years later, her thirteen year old cousin stayed at her house for the week. He raped her every night, once with an empty beer bottle. His age made it tricky… and they finally decided to try him in Family Court. He ended up doing a few years in Juvie before hitting the street when his parents kicked him out. I lost track of him when he left state. That was ten years ago."

Lassiter took back the photo, smoothing out one of the edges. "The day we arrested him, I carried that little girl to my car… told her she'd be okay… that I'd never let anything happen to her again. The following evening she drowned herself in the bathtub while her mother was zoned out on Valium."

He looked up, his expression intent. "The last time I saw her… she looked like you did this afternoon… the way you still look now."

Shawn closed his eyes and turned away again, everything so jumbled up and wrong he was finding it difficult just to sit there without clawing at his head.

"It's… it's so… hard…"

The detective nodded. "I know. I know it is."

Longer silence… soothing shoosh…shoosh of cobalt waves… piercing gulls mourning the setting sun…

Lassiter was sighing again. "You owe me… you know that right?"

Shawn frowned, glancing left.

"Well it was an expensive tie…"

Shawn looked down, realizing the missing tie was knotted in a tight, pale blue and lavender knot, around his bleeding arm. "Festive." He noted, trying to pull it up a little, then yelping slightly as it tugged at the wound.

"Just leave it alone." said his companion wearily.

It had grown cooler while they'd been talking, and Shawn shivered as the waves kicked up a small breeze.

"We need to get you back to the house before you start going into shock. I for one, do not plan to carry you." said Lassiter as he stood.

_Oh crap… dad…_

The muscles that operated his throat went on vacation as groaned. "Shit…"

"He isn't home."

Shawn looked up quickly, his brow wrinkled. "Huh?"

"Henry… or do you think I wouldn't have checked the house first? I called his cell… seems he thought you were asleep upstairs, so he left to pick up some fresh groceries… apparently you haven't been eating…"

The relief was short lived.

"And no, I will not be covering for you on this. In fact, I'm counting on your father to help me get you into a therapy group."

"I don't need…"

"DON'T TELL ME YOU DON'T NEED TO!"

If Shawn had been standing he probably would have landed on his ass.

"Fifteen minutes ago you were a second away from butchering yourself! This isn't negotiable- you are going into therapy, you will check into a rape crisis center, and you will **not** skip a single session!"

Grabbing his unmangled arm, Lassiter, in spite of the extra decibel added to his tone, gingerly helped the younger man to stand, though shakily. While Shawn balanced for a second, he stooped down again and retrieved the crutch.

"Come on. Oh, and you're eating tonight too."

Too drained to argue, Shawn allowed himself to be led back towards the home beach.

Two minutes into the walk, he tugged to a halt, eyes studying the backs of his hands. "Look Lassiter… there's something…" his face flushed as he struggled to speak. "It's about what happened the other day in the bathroom…"

He spoke.

He told the whole story… every word… every touch… with his eyes averted.

When he finally finished, Lassiter was almost snarling. "I'm calling the Chief as soon as we get back to the house- and you _will_ tell her everything you just told me." Pulling the younger man forward again, he grit his teeth. "And if you try to keep anything else from me…"

He didn't finish the threat.

He didn't have to.


	16. Breathing Slow

He was staring out the window again.

It was surreal… watching those same trees kicking their branches in the ripening breeze- shaking off the day as the first stars began to light.

He wasn't supposed to have ever seen those trees again. Hell… he wasn't supposed to be in this house again… smell that stale odor of uneaten food again…

Or… see his father again.

_"Set him down on the couch… I'll get the first-aid kit…" _

_"…didn't hit anything vital… hand me the gauze…" _

_"…periencing light shock… there's a quilt on my bed…"_

His father hadn't said anything to him… speaking only to Lassiter… taking the knife mutely and dropping it in the sink…

_"…call the center tomorrow… try to get him in as soon as possible…"_

That was an hour ago. The detective himself had left forty five minutes later, taking his ruined tie with him.

And still, his father wouldn't speak.

He stared out the window. His father, standing in the kitchen, stared into the sink.

Sensation was slowly beginning to return. It was as though his body hadn't read the sudden script change… had gone ahead with dying while the rest of him was left behind. He knew this sensation… had felt it before… five days ago…

_The sound of the gunshot… the gout of dark blood… the rush of startled shock… and sensation had fled._

He remembered pressing his stained shirt against his father's wound… he remembered scrubbing tepid water against himself, repulsed, the scummy feeling not washing away… he remembered dragging his torn leg up sixteen stairs… across a hallway littered with paper… finally finding a phone.

He barely remembered the conversation… his body aching furiously by then. His thigh, his side, and... and other places… all radiated out, and stole his breath… stole his words…

A sudden patter of water drops scattered across the pane of glass before him… a temporary shower from a random cloud somewhere up above… just passing through…

Then he heard the sound of a light step behind him, and instantly he curled his shoulders, waiting for the verbal blows to fall.

_"…losing is for lowlifes. Losing is for quitters…" _

_"You just hit the disappointment tri-fecta…" _

_"Get over yourself kid…"_

When the hands landed on his shoulders he flinched, fingers clenched into shaking fists.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

He couldn't stop babbling, stuck on continuous, frantic apology as he started trembling under his father's hands.

The fingers pressed against his collarbone tightened, and he wrapped his arms around himself, still choking out remorse in broken pieces. He felt the raw pain he'd been successfully scooping dirt over for the last few days start to unearth, rising upward despite his best efforts. Throat convulsing, he tried to shove it back down, but it was too late as the first trickles worked down his cheeks.

Sucking in a jerky gasp, he felt the weighty hands shift, and suddenly he was embraced, arms encircling his own, pulling him back against a warm chest as small cries tore from him painfully.

"None of this is your fault… and if there was a way I could bear this for you I'd do it in a heartbeat. Anything it took to make it stop hurting…"

He shook his head, denying the comfort even as he desperately yearned for it. How could his father even stand to hold him… after all that had happened… knowing what he knew?

But his father didn't let go.

And he didn't pull away.

And outside, the trees swayed.

0o0o0o0o0

Shawn must hate him. He'd seen him during the first day of the trial- but hadn't spoken to him since he stormed out of the station the day before.

But Shawn… Shawn had been…

_"So what time you picking up Cindy CSI?" _

_"Two hours, and her name's Esther." _

_"A piece of advice from a concerned second party? Don't ask if she wants to see your sample case."_

That was their last conversation… the last one they'd ever have when things were still…

Gus rubbed shaking fingers across his lips. Less than ten days ago, they'd been sitting in this office. Shawn's feet had been propped up on the desk, like usual… Gus had been sitting at his computer- checking his email quickly before grabbing his coat. He'd left Shawn… left him behind so the man could hang with his dad. Yeah, he really did have a date… but he'd been pleased that it offered the opportunity to let his best friend continue the three year long fence repair that had going on between Shawn and his father since the old man had moved back to town. His friend never mentioned it, but though his personality was already light-hearted and joyous… mostly… this reconnect with his dad… Something he hadn't even noticed was missing from his friend had begun to light up… And no, they weren't Andy and Opie… more like Homer and Bart… but even so…

_"Why didn't you tell me!!! Why Shawn!!" _

_"I couldn't." _

_"That's a stupid reason Shawn! I'm your best friend!" _

_"How did you expect that little exchange to go Gus, huh?"_

Hearing the words directly from his friend… hearing him _admit_ it…

When the Chief had told them, in her office, he'd been instantly ill. He'd also been furious… enraged that this woman would even suggest… that she could try to convince him something like this had happened. Even Henry… even good old dad had been in on it… some perverted joke- a good one- see if you can make Gus puke in ten words or less. Well Shawn could trump that any day… he could do it with five.

But when the door leading to the holding cell had slammed open… when he saw the way his best friend was sitting…

Shawn had been facing away- hunched- enclosed- cut off. Just a single word would have helped… even a glance back… a guarded 'hey' would have given him at least a few more seconds to believe it was all just some elaborate lie. Even knowing Karen and Henry wouldn't even conceive of… of something so sick…

But to accept that the sickness was real…

And he couldn't stay in that room. He ran… tail tucked and sporting a freshly disemboweled midsection, he'd fled.

If he'd just stayed a few more minutes… given Shawn time to work through it with him… But he'd been so afraid that Shawn would talk about it… that he'd WANT to unload himself… And Gus couldn't take that. He knew it had happened, but never- never did he ever want to know _how_.

Not even if it meant the chance that his friend would hate him… for being so weak.

0o0o0o0o0

The trial would resume in two days. Meanwhile, Henry wouldn't even discuss the possibility of Shawn not taking up therapy.

The Rape Crisis Center on East Cañon Perdido Street was a plain beige building. Blocky and unassuming, it looked like just an ordinary set of offices. Leaning heavily on his crutch, limping along the sidewalk next to the tall hedge lining the street side, Shawn kept his head down in weary resignation. Several steps ahead, his father came to the slope in the driveway, and paused to wait for him to catch up.

He didn't want to go in there.

He knew the statistics… he'd looked up the center last night on the internet. Only fifteen percent of all rape victims were men. That meant, the chances of him being stuck in a lovely little support group with mostly women… Hell, who was he kidding… that wouldn't happen anyhow; as if they'd want a man anywhere near them at this point. For him, even being around Juliet had him shaking with anxiety.

His father waited, not speaking, while he studied the front door nervously. It was narrow and white, dominated by a large pane of glass. The sight of it put him on edge… it looked… confining. To the left of the door, there was a short span of empty wall, and then an open parking pit filled with a number of vehicles… no doubt belonging to the various councilors inside. Immediately to the right there was a double window that allowed him to see inside… see the shapes of people walking about.

He still didn't want to go in there.

A hand brushed across his shoulder. He still couldn't stop the involuntary jerk that followed… and he hoped his father didn't notice.

"I'll be with you."

He breathed out a few times, then nodded. And really, he thought, glancing at the stained white patch on the crease of his left arm, it wasn't as though he'd left himself with a choice.

0o0o0o0o0

They were warm… they were friendly… they were mostly women.

Good to see his deductive reasoning hadn't fled.

He hung back while his father talked to the receptionist, Ofelia, to sign in and arrange to meet with one of the councilors Henry had spoken to that morning on the phone. Ofelia told them she'd be there in a few minutes, then pointed to a line of soft chairs near the back wall. A rack of magazines and pamphlets hung from a metal container next to the chairs, and Shawn snagged a narrow brochure idly.

Two seconds of scanning and he stuffed the folded page back in place. A few moments later, an older woman in a dark peach blazer entered the room.

"Hello, I'm Marilyn Goldman… Henry is it?" His father stood, shaking the woman's outstretched hand.

"And you're Shawn, correct?" she asked gently.

Shawn nodded, still sitting, his hands rubbing up and down on the tops of his jeans. He was glad she hadn't tried to shake his hand.

"I have an office just down the hall. If you two wouldn't mind following me, we can go there and have some privacy."

Shawn trailed slowly behind the other two, uneven footsteps carrying him foreward as his eyes sweeped the walls, noting the large purple posters and other advertising hung here and there; all with the same sad looking face in the corner. Scattered among the posters were also bright pictures of flowers, mountain scenes, and empty beaches. _Yeah… that's all it takes. Sorry you got raped- here's a nice sunset to make you feel better._

They reached the door to Marilyn's office, and she allowed them to step inside before closing the door. Choosing the chair furthest from the desk, Shawn sat down. His father sat next to him, giving him a quick glance that he assumed was meant to be encouraging before facing forward again.

Moving behind the desk, the woman tapped her keyboard to awaken her computer screen. "I just need to get your information. And I hope you can be patient, this system is a little out of date so sometimes it processes the pages slowly."

Henry said it was no problem, and Shawn just toyed with the crutch leaning against his chair.

In spite of her warning, it really didn't take that long at all to type in all their contact information. Shawn let his father do all the talking, occupying himself with taking in all the details of the woman behind the desk- her family, types of books she enjoyed, favorite color, and preferred drink of choice. Breakfast blend tea, it turned out.

After the final keystroke, she hit print, and left to go gather the pages as they emerged from a copier in a separate room.

While they were alone, Henry turned to his son. "Are you…"

"I'm fine."

Whether he was convinced, or realized Shawn just didn't feel like talking about it, Henry let it go and faced towards the desk again.

Within a few minutes, Marilyn was back, tucking the printed pages into a lavender folder.

"Now, we don't normally have a lot of male councilors on staff, however, I'm pleased to say that at the moment, there is one available to help. Currently, there are two other men, also receiving treatment at this time, who have been meeting together with one of our volunteers, Darrin Kellor. If you're willing, we can start you in group sessions starting next week."

Henry nodded. "He's willing."

Shawn opened his mouth before shutting it again, the slight sting reminding him what had galvanized his therapy in the first place.

Marilyn jotted a quick note in a legal pad before her. While she was writing, Henry shifted in his chair.

"Listen, Mrs. Goldman, there's something else you need to know. Shawn is currently on trial as the perpetrator in this attack. Somehow the DA was able to convince a Judge that he was…" He cleared his throat. "In any event, it may interfere somewhat with his sessions."

Marilyn sat back in shock. "That's horrible! I've never heard…" She shook her head. "Who is your legal council?"

"Martha Clark."

The woman nodded. "She's good. However, should you need it, we have the names of several well respected attorneys who would jump at the chance to clear you. I don't know how the DA is trying to play this, but there's no way he can deny you were the one assaulted."

Shawn merely nodded, still feeling claustrophobic in the woman's presence.

"Now, we have a number of services available to help you as you deal with what happened. Some of them, I'm afraid, are still primarily geared towards women; which unfortunately includes our self-defense classes…"

"I don't need them. It wasn't like that…"

"Shawn's been through self-defense training… he's more than capable of protecting himself…"

"And I'm more than capable of speaking too dad!" He wanted to slap himself after saying that, but couldn't deny the irritation of having other people talking over him… about him… while he was right there.

"I'm sorry…" He mumbled. Goldman seemed unperturbed by his anger, and his father just folded his arms, sitting back in a clear manner that stated 'you have the floor'.

Agitated by the fact that he was still sitting in that room, Shawn scratched the back of his neck. "Just… how long is this going to take? I mean, how many sessions are there before it's done?"

The look he received was too much like the expression his mom wore when she told him she and his father were separating.

"Shawn, this is not going to be a quick fix. Sometimes people are in therapy for a very long time… months… even years…"

Shawn closed his eyes. No… he couldn't take that…

Marilyn was still talking. "Part of our mission statement is 'Help, Hope, and Healing'. We know it takes a lot of support to work through something that violates everything that makes you the person you are. You're lucky to have a father and friends that care about you… there are so many people that come to our center that have no one. You have to know that you aren't going to be fighting this alone. We are committed to standing beside you every step of the way."

Shawn turned his head, supporting his chin on a tight fist. It sounded really fine, but save for a few embellishments, it was nearly a direct quote from the brochure he'd scanned when they first came in. Reheated reassurance.

"Next you'll tell me time heals all wounds." He muttered, still staring towards the wall.

He heard her shift, rotating her desk chair. "A well-worn phrase, but there is some truth to it… just as there's truth about time allowing memories to fade…"

Shawn laughed, sharp and bitter without the humor it used to possess. "You don't have…" He shook his head. "You don't have a fucking clue."

"Shawn!"

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, feeling his father's gaze boring into him. "Feel free dad… I'll let you explain it."

Suddenly standing, grabbing his crutch, he limped towards the door. "I'm ready to go home."

Slipping into the hall, he hobbled for the exit.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**

The Santa Barbara Crisis Center is a real place. The descriptions of the building (from the outside) are as close to accurate as I could make them. The staff mentioned, with the exception of Darrin Kellor, actually do work there. The interior, personalities of staff, and manner of admittance are not based on any knowledge of actual operation. Any mistakes are my own. If you're curious about the facility, you can Google the site. I'd offer a link, but ffn is paronoid and won't allow for such things.


	17. I Used To Live

The fork jabbed, piercing the small gelled mass of egg. Lifted slowly, it hung, slightly jiggling, before being dropped back to the ceramic next to the rest of the cooling whitish-yellow pile. Shoving away the plate, the kid sat back… just like he'd done for the past three days.

Henry knew Shawn had barely eaten in the hospital. In fact, the last real meal he'd had, had been right before this… altered reality… had begun.

And the deprivation was beginning to show.

Shawn had always been slender. Not really skinny- he kept himself fit- a healthy layer of muscle over his smaller frame. But now, if there had been any cushioning tissue at all, it was nearly gone. He was painful to look at- a starving refugee. But he wouldn't eat.

Two nights ago, through some miracle of persuasion, Lassiter had somehow convinced the young man to ingest half a sandwich and a glass of milk. Henry suspected it had something to do with the sidearm attached at the detective's belt. At any rate, he'd still been trying to grasp what Shawn had just tried to do, and let it pass.

But now he wasn't eating again.

Sighing, he watched his son trail away from the table, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Without a word, Henry gathered up their plates, not acknowledging that his own plate was also still mostly full. He, at least, could get away with shedding a few pounds.

In the kitchen, he scraped the plates into the trash, the clumps of food landing on the broken remains of what used to be his best steak knife. As if he could ever have used it again. From the living room, he heard the sound of the TV coming to life. Whatever was on when the screen awoke seemed to be good enough as he didn't hear the random mutter of flipping channels. Though considering it was In-Fisherman, the kid was obviously seeking distraction rather than entertainment. Somehow, 'Best of Deep-Sea Dorado' didn't seem to fit with what he knew of his son's tastes.

After a minute, the screen snapped off again. "I'm going outside."

Henry set the plates in the sink. "I'll come with you."

Shawn had his hand on the sliding door when he looked over his shoulder. "I'm just gonna be in the yard…"

Henry gestured with his hand. "That's fine, but I'm still going with you."

Figuring it wasn't worth an argument, Shawn slid open the door and stepped out, followed closely by his father.

The tiny amount of rainfall yesterday had left a gleaming layer of moisture on the grass. Limping across the lawn, Shawn's crutch left small, round indents in the springy vegetation- the matted stalks recovering quickly from the pressure once the rubber bumper lifted away again. Giving the kid a little space, Henry leaned against the porch rail while his son brushed water droplets off the bench before settling carefully at the picnic table.

Coming up with something to say had never been this hard, not even when they were at their worst. Even an argument involved give and take.

Now, though, even when they spoke- it felt like the kid wasn't really aware… like he dropped his mouth and let words fall out while his mind retreated. Shawn might act like an idiot sometimes but, save for a very uncomfortable Christmas dinner last year, he generally paid attention to what he said. Or at the very least, became aware after the fact.

And conversations between them just kept getting shorter.

He couldn't help but think of that young girl that had tried to throw herself from a window two decades ago… nor how she'd almost succeeded. He'd caught her at the last second, dragging her back inside to turn her over to the shaken hospital staff. As far as he knew, that was her only attempt. Oftentimes, there only _was_ a single try. Other times...

And it was different every time. But the way Shawn was shutting down again…

He heard the house phone ringing inside, but made no move to catch it. After six rings, the answering machine kicked on. Whoever it was didn't leave a message. Then, not unexpectedly, his cell rang.

Keeping his eyes on Shawn, he answered.

"Henry…"

0o0o0o0o0

Lassiter stood near the window, watching as O'Hara talked with the old man, a frail shadow that struggled with memory… striving to understand what was being asked of him. Lassiter, hovering on the outskirts, merely waited for his turn. He still couldn't believe it hadn't even occurred to him. The Judge… dammit the JUDGE! Of course! He could say he was just being slow on the uptake due to some minor incident involving a pretty sunset and a knife… but still…

But then, this was why he'd grown to respect his partner so much… and even begin to rely on her. She more than covered his ass at times.

Her excitement this morning had been so palatable he'd half expected a 'Eureka' to explode from her throat with hurricane velocity. It seemed everyone at the station had been doing whatever they could to help the unjustly accused psychic- O'Hara with a noticeably fervent passion. And really, was he that surprised that it had been she to make the connection? They'd thought all along that the Judge murdering his wife had been more than off. And finding his son in that basement should have been a more than glaring clue. But then, again, they'd been dealing with an inconceivable situation that managed to crimp deductive ability to some degree.

Now though… now it was just so damn clear…

And so, loaded with the sort of crazed enthusiasm usually only brought out after an all-nighter rubbing shoulders with the best in blue at "Clancy's Golden Shamrock Taco Shack" (God rest its soul), they charged for the parking lot and mounted old Bessie.

Lassiter barely restrained himself from running the siren.

0o0o0o0o0

Henry gripped his cell tightly, still staring down at the small device even after it had gone silent. He wasn't certain he was still processing this correctly, it was simply too incredible. Finally, sliding the phone back into his pocket, he walked towards the picnic table- not missing the slight tensing of his son's shoulders.

Dropping down across from the younger man, he folded his hands in front of him.

"That was detective Lassiter."

Shawn didn't even nod… just kept gazing towards the beach a few hundred yards away.

Henry continued. "There may be a break in this case against you… they figured it out today… they remembered about…"

"The Judge." said Shawn, raising his hand to scratch his arm.

Henry raised his brows. "So you were paying attention."

The younger man just shrugged.

Henry tried again. "If the Judge's story pans out, if they can prove he was manipulated by Lizbeth just like his own son… and like it's appearing she did with Andy Fender… Kid this case against you could get thrown out of court!"

Shawn didn't move. His eyes didn't widen, his breath didn't speed up… he gave absolutely no sign that any of this meant anything to him.

"Shawn…"

"I'm a little tired… I think I'm gonna go take a nap or something…" The words trailed off as Shawn pushed himself to his feet, wavering a little until he got the crutch tucked under his arm.

"Shawn…"

Torn, Henry watched as the young man carefully navigated the stairs leading up to the house. Moments later, he slid the door open and retreated inside.

0o0o0o0o0

He was relieved… on some level. Cautious… but relieved never-the-less. But even so, far more overwhelming than that- he was consumed by heavy sorrow.

He found it impossible to focus his mind on anything… everything jumped around, scattering back and forth so much that linear thought was impossible. At random times, he'd break into a sweat- as though he had a fever- only to curl into himself with small tremors. In his head he felt a constant beating pressure- a need that twisted sharply. Need to scream… need to weep… need to babble endlessly…

But all these needs seemed to try to manifest themselves all at the same time, lodging behind his forehead… leaving him dry-eyed and mute; fighting a throbbing headache.

Rolling to his back, his arm briefly rising to hold his pained side, Shawn glanced at the door. He wondered how long it would take his father to come stomping into the room- demanding he talk, demanding he eat, demanding he just get the hell over it. He knew that was an unfair depiction of his dad… but he still waited for it to happen.

But the only sound that came from outside the door was the soft rustle of someone in the kitchen. A few pots clapped together, and then he heard running water. Okay, so his father might not verbally demand his son eat, but he was still implying the sentiment in his own special way.

Closing his eyes, Shawn sighed.

He was just so tired…

0o0o0o0o0

_The jeans crumpled to the floor soundlessly, water immediately starting to soak through the heavy material. _

_His body was in agony, but he wasted no time in trying to escape, hooking his fingertips into the scattered creases peppering the concrete- water swirling around his hands. _

_"Where are you trying to go? Don't tell me this has gotten old for you? I thought you enjoyed playing the bitch!" _

_The impact of her shoe against his damaged side tore a ragged scream from his throat, and he writhed in blinding pain. _

_While still frozen, he felt small hands digging into his wrist, yanking roughly, pulling his arm above his head… _

_He fought… _

_He begged… _

_But though he was shaking with terror and panic… she just smiled… _

_And when she started moving against him, gasping in short bursts, digging her nails into his skin… he fled into his mind. _

_But he could still feel her… and it hurt so much. There was nothing about it that was like the previous two times she'd touched him. This was violent… tearing pain that radiated through his gut- his responses generated by motion over sensation. Even in the depths of his memory, his lips never stopped moving… pleading… _

_Sobbing screams for a deliverance that never came…_

0o0o0o0o0

_"**NUH!!"**_ Shawn lunged backward, finding himself standing on his bed- pressed desperately in the corner of the wall, panting; beads of sweat making a slow journey along the edge of his jaw. The room was dark- it hadn't been dark earlier but now it was, was it night? The jagged thought was all he could latch onto for those first few seconds- anything to try to banish the memory that was so close beneath the surface he could still feel the loathsome film of vulgarity on his skin.

As reality started to actually become real around him, his arms began trembling, and he held them tightly below his ribs as his knees loosened- spilling him back to the mattress. He turned his head, using his shoulder to wipe at his cheek- unable to reach higher without unclamping his arms… which he wasn't quite ready to do yet.

In the following minutes, his other senses started to pick up on things; the springy tick of his old clock where it rested on the dresser; a little football on an endless journey around a plastic face. He could also hear the sporadic skittering clitter of tree branches as they tapped against his window outside… oddly comforting in its normality.

Inhaling through his nose, he could faintly smell roast… delicious at any other time- all it did now was make his stomach roll. He clamped his lips together on the small jerking hitch until he gained control again.

His breathing was starting to slow down, and he eased the grip on his midsection- somewhat sore from tensing for so long. God he did not need this now. His memory was more than adequate without vivid dreams besides.

Suddenly drained, his head pounding, he felt like all sensation had been bled from him as he sank down on his side. Snagging a pillow, he pulled it against his chest- staring straight ahead rather than close his eyes again.

He didn't sleep the rest of the night.

0o0o0o0o0

Court reconvened at eight o' clock Monday morning. Well before opening statements could begin, the two attorneys met with the Judge in his chambers. Shawn hung back with his father, a growing nervousness the longer it took for Martha Clark to reappear.

His dream from the night before kept coming back to him, blindsiding in vividness even as he tried to stifle it… digging nails into his wrists each time the grasping fingers and manic grin flashed behind his eyes.

Finally, as the clock was ticking over towards nine- she stepped through the heavy door, followed closely by an enraged Phelps. Letting the other attorney brush past them, she smiled softly at the two men. "It's been postponed pending further investigation. But given what your detectives have discovered… and considering one of the victims is a former Judge…" She didn't need to finish.

His dad was smiling widely, enthusiastically thanking the woman for her help. Shawn merely leaned against the paneled wall, blinking mutely at the sudden turn. Postponed… did that still mean he'd have to show up in the courtroom again? Or… was it just a formality? Was it over- just like that? He couldn't grasp this- it was more than he could deal with.

Thankfully, Clark didn't keep them long, and finally escorted them towards a side door in order to dodge the waiting press. A few enterprising reporters still found them though, but Clark managed to distract them while Shawn limped for his father's truck.

The older man had his phone out even before he started the vehicle- calling Gus first, then the Chief, who promised to pass the news on to her detectives. After he hung up, one hand still on the wheel, he turned to Shawn. "Kid…"

"Did that just happen?" He turned to his father, one hand scratching at the healing scabs on his right wrist.

His dad paused, smile fading slightly. Then he nodded. "I hope so."

The rest of the ride, neither one spoke.

0o0o0o0o0

He watched his son.

Save for the brief exchange in the truck, he'd sat with his lips sealed, the slight emotion fading away as he drifted inward again. It cut him, seeing that hooded despair. Even the possibility of vindication didn't matter. And really, Henry should have realized that.

When everything was stripped away, nothing was ever going to be different for Shawn…

Because everything _was_ different.

Now, Shawn stood at the edge of the lawn, staring out towards the ocean. Occassionaly a breeze would pick up, tossing his limp hair around his head- a mocking imitation of the way it used to be styled.

Sometimes his hand would move, clutching at his wrist for a time before lowering slowly. During those times, his shoulders would tremble just the least bit. Henry had noticed him doing that in the truck... and something about it tugged at him...

"Shawn?"

"What time am I supposed to be to the clinic?"

Henry stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Five... and since we don't have to go to court today, you have a few hours to relax."

Shawn reached for his wrist again before stopping himself- dropping his hand once more. "Yeah."

Another breeze slithered through the yard. But the two men stood motionless, one a few feet behind the other, both facing the pitching waves.

Shawn's shoulders trembled again. "I'm tired..."

Henry closed his eyes, nodding his head and swallowing.

"I know kid."


	18. Another Day

"It first started when I was ten. It was Fourth of July weekend in eighty seven. We were having a big party- all the family was invited. This was when we were still living in Baltimore. Mom was riding herd on about fifteen of us at the time- while at the same time trying to control the buffet. Dad had been gone for about six months at this point- and I suppose we were all still affected by that. Anyhow, she lost her temper when I knocked over one of my cousins… I think it might have been Davey… not really sure. I guess it doesn't really matter. She got mad and told me to go to my room and calm down. I was pissed… it was just an accident you know? I probably mouthed off or something cause she smacked my face."

The man, Tom, paused for a moment as he stared at the carpet. "You know the thing that keeps coming back to me that day the most? The smell of peanut butter cookies. My aunt Polly had been baking some just before I went upstairs."

He stopped again.

"Thomas, would you like to take a break?"

The other man looked up, blinking a few times before shaking his head. "No... thank you… I'll be okay." He gazed to the side, eyes falling somewhere between the two other men sitting across from him.

"My grandpa followed me upstairs. At first, he just sat by me on the bed… telling me it was hard on mom since dad had died… And he put his hand on my shoulder…"

Shawn turned his head while the other man continued speaking- the story growing more horrific by the second. His own memories notwithstanding, he wasn't sure what was gained by adding someone else's atrocities to the mix. Nearby, the group counselor, Darrin, sat quietly with his arms draped in a relaxed manner over his folded legs.

Sliding his feet around as he shifted, Shawn pressed his lips together and simply tried to endure the session, telling himself that when it was over, it would be two whole days before he'd have to be back. And if the prediction for winged swine came true- his dad would tell him continued sessions weren't required.

"How have you been sleeping these last few nights?"

Shawn's head came up quickly, thinking, for a moment, that the counselor had been speaking to him.

"Okay… though I still don't get more than five hours on average. The good thing is I haven't had any nightmares so far this week. Though, considering it's still only Monday- I could be getting ahead of myself." Tom laughed, bringing smiles to the faces of both the counselor and the other person in the circle besides Shawn- a younger kid with a painful abundance of reddish freckles named Wendell.

As for Shawn, he merely waited for the brief amusement to end- not feeling the humor. He should have, he knew that. In fact, he should have contributed something to the joke… though what it would have been, he had no idea. And besides, the little moment was fading again anyhow.

And then it was Wendell's turn.

It was a lot harder blocking out the kid's story. Add to the fact that he was only sixteen- and desperately awkward; hovering between that stage of growth where his limbs had bypassed protocol and decided to shoot for full size before the rest of his body realized it had even been entered in a race.

It had been an initiation ritual gone very wrong- the right to be a member of the high school elite resulting in a group domination session involving four jeering boys and a baton. Sickened throughout the account, Shawn desperately fought to control his hands as they kept wanting to rise up and cover his ears. By the time the kid was done, there were tears in his pale eyes- erasing the brief laughter that had lit in them earlier. Scrubbing at his lids quickly with the heels of his palms, he dragged his hands across his tight red curls and breathed deeply.

Every moment he had to sit in that hard metal chair his anxiety grew. He didn't want to be here- he didn't want to listen to other people's worst life experiences to date. But more than anything- he didn't want to talk about his own humiliation… certainly not to these two guys who probably didn't even remember his name. And he was just so tired of even thinking about it.

"Shawn?"

He turned, noting that Darrin was tilting his head at him- a way too sympathetic and understanding expression on his dark face. "It's your turn to talk if you're willing…"

He shook his head quickly. "No."

"It's okay, I don't want you to feel any pressure. We'll do this in your own time- and only when you're ready. But I hope you know, it does help to talk about…"

"No."

Darrin backed off then, turning back to the group as a whole, offering them tips for getting through each day, how to deal with times when they felt sudden panic or anger or depression. To Shawn, it just sounded like a grim Hallmark sympathy card.

Afterward, as the group rose and started filtering towards the door, Darrin held Shawn back a moment until the other men had vanished into the hall.

"You did just fine today. I won't mislead you that it will be difficult the first several days. And it's normal to not want to talk right at first. But I meant it when I said it helps."

Shawn just gripped his crutch, eyeing the floor stubbornly. After a second he turned away. "My ride's probably here… I need to go."

Darrin didn't try to stop him, and let him leave with a calm 'see you in a few days'.

0o0o0o0o0

He gave up trying to wedge his crutch into the front of the truck, finally tossing it with a dull clunk in the open box.

"The thing is collapsible you know."

He ignored his father, dragging himself slowly into the vehicle before clicking on the belt. He'd be so glad when he didn't have to rely on that thing to get around anymore.

"Holdren's is just up the street, I was thinking of going there instead of cooking tonight."

"I'm not hungry…"

"I'm not asking. Kid, you've shed fifteen pounds you can't afford to lose. Now either you eat in the traditional hand to mouth method or I have a feeding tube attached. Either way I'm not gonna let you kill yourself though fasting any more than…"

His father stopped talking abruptly, his hands clutching the wheel. But Shawn heard the sentence finish in his head. _'Any more than I'll let you slash your wrist open with a knife.'_

With nothing to contribute from his side, Shawn simply turned his head to stare out the side window, watching the world pass in reverse through the mirror's reflection.

It took less than five minutes to reach the steak house. After parking in the shade of a short palm, Henry went to retrieve Shawn's crutch while the younger man slid stiffly from the cab. As he was lodging the padded armrest under his shoulder, he noticed the way his father was holding his side. Immediately he was struck with heavy guilt.

_I haven't even asked him about his gunshot wound…_

"You okay?"

Henry shrugged, dropping his hand. "Hardly feel it. You ready?"

Shawn half-rolled his eyes. So much for the Charles Ingalls bonding moment. Wordlessly he limped for the front entrance.

0o0o0o0o0

Nothing appealed to him, but that didn't exclude him from participating. Since he only gave the slick cover a quick glance before setting it aside, his father ordered for him.

Twenty minutes of staring across the table, idly pushing his water glass back and forth, Shawn finally sat back as the heavy maroon plate was placed down before him, steam rising off the still sizzling sirloin and large cluster of breaded shrimp.

"Enjoy!" said the young hostess brightly before wandering off to tend another table.

Stabbing delicately at the grilled brown meat, Shawn looked up to see his father already chewing his second bite.

"Eat." He said thickly around his mouthful of cow.

Wrinkling his lip, Shawn dipped the tines of his fork into the afterthought of mashed potatoes clinging determinedly to the edge of his plate. Sliding the fragment of fluffy white vegetable between his lips, he noted distantly that the proprietors must have an overwhelming fear of vampires considering how much garlic now coated his tongue.

Spreading the too flavorful mouthful around for a second, he finally swallowed- drowning the taste with a gulp of water.

"Try the steak."

"I'm not four."

"I know that Shawn. If you were four I would have bought you something that came with a plastic helicopter. Try the steak."

Angrily, Shawn hacked off a large bite, shoving it in his mouth and chewing rapidly before swallowing, nearly choking as the hunk dragged past his esophagus. Coughing through the slight pain, tears in his eyes from trying to hack up his liver, he took another cleansing guzzle from his glass.

"Do you want me to cut it for you?"

"Shut up." He muttered, chopping off a much smaller piece. Taking a little more care with this next bite, he was preparing to ingest it when a flood of heat and weak dizziness rushed across his forehead, followed by a familiar twisting in his gut. _Oh great…_ Spitting out the chewed mouthful he grabbed the edge of the table and yanked himself to his feet.

"Shawn…"

"Bathroom…" he wheezed.

Forgoing the cane, he limped quickly to the back, hoping desperately that there wasn't a line.

0o0o0o0o0

Henry had lowered his fork when his son's face went suddenly pale; just before stumbling away from the table at the closest thing to a run as he was capable of.

"Dammit." He muttered.

He realized instantly what had happened, and could have kicked himself for the mistake. Having gone without food for so long, Shawn's stomach was particularly sensitive to what he put in it. Though not heavily spiced, the dense steak was just too much for him to handle. Waiting a few seconds, Henry regretfully stood as well, following the manic path his son had cleared on the way to the men's room.

A younger gentleman was pushing through the door as he approached.

"You might want to wait, I think someone's sick in there." He supplied helpfully.

Henry nodded. "I know."

Brushing by the other man, he slowly entered, sighing as he heard his son gagging in one of the stalls. Turning around, he pushed the slightly cracked door tightly into its frame and flipped the lock. Then, walking to the row of sinks, he leaned back against them with his arms crossed, waiting until he heard the shuddered cough and following toilet flush.

When his son finally sagged out of the stall again, he was sweating lightly, and his eyes had a slight sheen.

"I don't think I like steak anymore." He managed as he walked to the sink to rinse his mouth.

Henry breathed in heavily. "Sorry kid… I should've just ordered something plain."

Shawn shrugged. "It's fine. I wasn't really hungry…"

"I never said you weren't going to eat."

Spitting out the mouthful of filmy water, Shawn glared up at his dad. "I told you, I don't want anything."

Henry glared back. "And I told you- either manually or with a needle… it's your choice."

The two men stared at each other, neither one willing to throw in the towel. But Henry could see his son's stance was slowly weakening… and even though he was ultimately going to win, he took no joy in it. He hated to admit that it wasn't his persuasive skill that was allowing him to triumph. Shawn just didn't have the fight in him to argue anymore. Like all the other changes about his son, this one hurt too… perhaps even more so.

For the past year, their arguments had slowly begun to evolve outside of the typical accusation and blame that dominated their relationship. As he slowly became accustomed to his son's career path- grudgingly- they'd settled into an easier way of hashing out their problems. In fact, it had become a sort of competition- seeing who could trump whom the quickest either with a particularly cutting jib- or flat out unarguable logic. In Shawn's case, it tended to lean more toward the former than the latter.

Still hovering over the sink, Shawn nodded. "Fine. But nothing spicy."

"I'll get you some oatmeal."

Shawn braced his hands against the counter as he worked his way back towards the door. His limp was far more pronounced without the crutch to steady him.

"Do you need any help?"

Shawn shook his head. "I'm fine. As long as you don't try to poison me again."

Henry followed him back to the dining room. "I'll inform the kitchen to keep the arsenic out of your food this time."

0o0o0o0o0

His stomach and the bowl of oatmeal he'd been forced to consume had a staring contest for about fifteen minutes that evening. Considering he neither had a second, even mushier viewing, nor felt his nausea fully subside- it must have been a draw.

At any rate, it made crawling into his bed even more uncomfortable that it should have been. Down comforter, cotton sheets, and slightly flattened pillows that perfectly formed to the shape of his head aside- he did not want to sleep.

He figured it wouldn't be too bad. After all, he'd perfected the fine art of staying awake during the most trying of circumstances. Most of high school, in fact, consisted of continuous days blearily glazing over in class while reminiscing about a fabulous evening the night before. Certainly that skill wouldn't have departed from him now.

And really… he really wasn't tired. Just because his head kept plummeting towards his chest didn't mean he was seconds from passing out. Just because his hands shook a little didn't mean he was exhausted. He didn't need to sleep.

He wouldn't sleep.

0o0o0o0o0

_His hands stretched above his head, pulling his upper body sharply… just high enough that he couldn't sit quite flat. _

_And she was there again, dropping painfully on top of him. _

_She grabbed him roughly… smiling in the face of his torment… and covered his body with hers, her knees pressing against his waist, the right one digging into the gash in his side. _

_He faced away, unable to bear the sight of her… unable to tolerate the sound of her ... _

_His hands were going numb… he couldn't feel his fingertips at all. _

_He wished his wrists would go numb. The angle was pulling them awkwardly- and the steady repetitive tug made them feel, each time, that they were about to snap. _

_It hurt. _

_He denied it even as it happened- KNOWING it was a lie… desperately convincing himself he'd jerk awake any second in the office… or from the couch at his father's house… or draped over a desk at the station…_

0o0o0o0o0

For the second evening in a row Shawn found himself torn from sleep with a scream caught between his teeth. This time, though, instead of cramming himself into the corner- he ended up slamming to the floor as he overbalanced; attempting to escape the specter of his dream that- for a moment- he swore was hovering over him in the dark.

The thud was quite loud, and moments later, he heard a noise in the adjacent bedroom- a sound like someone rapidly walking across the floor and then into the hall.

Shawn hadn't even had time to untwist his legs from the blanket- much less slow his breathing- when his door pushed open and a dark shape entered his room.

Gasping sharply, he thrashed away, kicking madly at the blankets as he struggled with the clingy folds.

"Shawn…"

He lunged away from the bed in a frantic crab-crawl- digging his feet into the carpet until he'd pushed himself across the room and pressed up against his dresser- chest thudding.

"Shawn- calm down…"

The bedside lamp flipped on and he saw his father's worn expression staring at him- a clear fabric pattern on the left side of his face from his pillow.

Squashing his panic as well as he was able, Shawn forced deep breaths as the dream relegated itself back behind his skull.

"Shawn… are you…"

"I'm fine… I'm fine…" He rubbed his palm across his temple. "J-just… must be from that oatmeal or something, or the steak- maybe the potatoes, you know they put a lot of garlic in their potatoes…" he rambled madly as he tried to bat aside anything his father might ask… particularly if the question began with _'did you have a bad…'_

"I'll be fine." He finished, wrapping his arms around his chest as he exhaled past the embarrassment of being caught flipping out.

"You thirsty?"

He shook his head. "No… I'm fine."

His father nodded. "Sure you are." Instead of leaving, the old man sat down on the bed, his eyes tracing around the room.

Still on the floor, Shawn finally felt the crushing sensation in his chest begin to loosen. Sighing out heavily, he scrubbed at his eyes. One night… he'd take even a single night of nothingness rather than go through this again.

"Was it a…"

"Nope."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask."

"Yes I do and no it wasn't."

More static silence, discomfort rising as they both gazed around the room- picking random objects to stare at rather than look at each other. Finally his father groaned, rubbing his back as he stood again. "Well… I'm going to go make some coffee."

Shawn blinked. "Dad- it's four…uh…" he craned his neck to see his clock, "twenty eight… or nine…ish… why are you making coffee?"

"Well do you plan to sleep anymore tonight?"

Memory pressure of small fingers trailed down his chest.

Revolted, he clawed up the dresser until he gained his feet.

"Coffee sounds great."


	19. Rebuilding Burning Bridges

He'd done it.

Somehow he'd done it.

Shelved his fears- indented the shell casing with his perfect enamel as it were…

And now he was here.

And dammit, there better be enough coffee in that pot for two.

"…lmost told him he could just shove it but c-can you believe that? Seriously I thought the whole thing was looney toons like a bad cartoon but then who am I to judge right? I mean who wants to sit in that chilly little room on a metal chair and go all Kumbaya with a reed flute- not me, and metal chairs? Really? Would it be s-so hard to spring for something with a little more cush…"

Gus simply nodded, incapable of overcoming the wind-up toy that was his best friend. Sure, Shawn on a verbal tear was nothing new. He'd sometimes get so many things he wanted to say all at once that he just let it all fly- some pieces hitting their intended target, but most just spiraling off into outer space. However, this babbling cacophony was somewhat… okay, a LOT different than what he was used to hearing. For one, every now and then, Shawn would stutter on a word. Maybe not up to National Treasure in the clue department, but it was meaningful to Gus. Shawn didn't stutter. Not even when he'd been shot at with a nail gun did he do more than talk really, really, fast… switching between bad Spanish, bad English, and something that sounded like the two languages had mated and given birth to an illegitimate child.

The second… more obvious difference though, was since Gus had first walked in the house, Shawn hadn't looked at him. He'd kept his eyes locked on his coffee mug, spinning it around in his hands endlessly. And at first, he hadn't spoken at all- just twirled his mug while Henry smacked pots together in the kitchen. The aroma of pancakes quickly rose, and soon, all three men had fluffy golden circles of joy in front of them. Gus didn't miss the small shared look between father and son either. One with struggling rebellion, the other with calm determination. Shawn ate the pancakes.

Afterward, Henry patted Gus on the shoulder and muttered something about his boat- and left them alone.

And all Gus did was start to ask "How did your…"

And Shawn was off. Somehow though, Gus noted, Shawn only told him about the _physical_ discomfort of the place… what he thought of the counselor… the color of the walls… the metal chairs…

Not once did he say anything about the session itself. And now they were drifting off topic.

"Shawn…"

"…sted we eat out even though I told him I wasn't hungry…"

"Since when aren't you hungry?" If ever he could take back words, other than 'I do', those would be it.

Shawn's face twisted slightly as he seemed to swallow wrong. His face flushed, and the hand resting on the table suddenly clenched before he pulled it into his lap. And he instantly stopped talking.

"I'm sorry… that's not what I…"

Shawn grabbed his crutch and pushed away from the table. "I'm fine, it's fine. Look, dad might need my help out there… do you mind if…?"

And without finishing the question, Shawn limped for the door.

Gus slid his palms over his face. Damn it, he hadn't meant that! For just a second, he'd talked himself into thinking they were back to normal- and the easy banter had just coughed out of him. He hadn't meant it! Shawn was so obviously still adjusting. No matter how long it may have seemed- it still had been barely a week ago that he and his father had been imprisoned in that basement. Busting out the calculator, it boiled down to approximately one hundred and seventy hours since Shawn was… he clenched his jaw… since Shawn was raped. He felt a cold weakness travel down his arms, and he leaned against the back of his chair as his balance tilted briefly. He'd fought it for days. He'd firmly thumb-tacked the Shawn he considered closer than his own brother- over the shattered being now occupying his friend's body. And not once since he heard it in the Chief's office did he allow himself to really admit it was true… Because it couldn't be. There was no way… no way…

But for Shawn to close him out now…

And he knew it. It was real.

And now Shawn didn't even want him there anymore.

He waited… but Shawn didn't come back inside.

The odor of consumed pancakes still floated through the room- but right then, the smell was very much unappreciated. His best friend didn't want anything to do with him.

If he didn't leave right now- he was going to see pancakes the sequel all over his shoes.

Well… at least he made it outside first.

0o0o0o0o0

Shawn stood just inside the garage, back pressed against the flaked paint of the inside door. _I was supposed to sand that down last week…_

"Where's Gus?" His father was running a small tool across the side of his boat- small curled pieces of shaved wood floating down to land at his feet.

Shawn had heard the sound of the little blue car backing slowly from the house a few minutes ago. He hadn't meant to…

"He… he decided he had to…" he pursed his lips, unable to even form the energy required for bullshitting.

"I screwed up. I…" but what else was there to say? He blew it with Gus because he got suddenly queasy at his friend's words? He went all bitchy crybaby at the mention of not eating?

"I doubt anything you did will wipe out over twenty years of friendship. This is tough on everyone… he just needs time. Just like you."

"Next you'll be telling me you've got your own spin-off show after appearing on Oprah."

His dad smiled, wiping sweat from his forehead with the arm of his sleeve. "I don't think so. I'm not really the hand-holding type." He rubbed his thumb over a slight ridge still defying him. Straightening with a wince, he turned the knob on the small tool and extended the blade a little farther.

"You okay?"

The older man rubbed at his forehead again. "I'm fine. It just stings a little." He turned to regard Shawn- looking pointedly at the crutch in his hands. "How about you?"

Shawn shrugged. "The same."

Henry turned back to his boat, and Shawn turned his head to look towards the house. Part of him wanted to call Gus, tell him he hadn't meant to act like that… he'd just been blindsided by another memory when he'd thought he'd managed to suppress them for a few hours. But another part of him, a sniveling selfish part, was angry that Gus hadn't thought before speaking. And both parts of himself were struck by the irony of that.

"Shawn?"

Still looking at the house, he answered. "Yeah?"

"I think I need you to call an ambulance."

"What!" his head snapped back around in time to see his father clutching his side as he eased himself to the ground.

"Dad!" His crutch dropped and rebounded on the concrete as he lurched to his father's side. "Dad- what…" He pulled at the fingers pressed against the thin cotton… exposing a spreading dark patch. Not red… not blood… And he felt sick.

"Shawn… stop gawking… I will not pass out in your arms. Now grab my phone and call an amb…" his voice tightened around the end of his sentence.

Hands shaking, Shawn tore through his father's pockets until he found the small black unit. Flipping it open, he fumbled over the keypad until he managed to punch the right sequence.

"I'm calling them dad, just hold… Yes- my name is Shawn Spencer, I need help, my father's hurt…!"

0o0o0o0o0

The ambulance ride was wracking. At first, they refused to let Shawn ride with- insisting he take a separate vehicle. However, Henry was still alert enough to demand his son be allowed to ride along as well- or nobody was going anywhere.

Shawn crouched on the short bench in the corner, ducking aside frequently as the EMTs dodged around him grabbing various tools. Still gripping the phone he could only stare blankly as the ambulance bucked over rough freeway, dodging through traffic as they made for the emergency room.

His father only briefly lost consciousness, fading out for a breathless moment before blinking back to hazy alertness.

The abruptly shouted words passed back and forth between medics and the ambulance driver before being filtered out to dispatch.

He caught some of it… latching onto the word 'infection' as it was raised by one pale haired fellow leaning over his father's right side.

He couldn't feel anything, save the fear and guilt that locked around his midsection.

He should have been paying attention. It was so clear… so obvious…

The way his father had held his side yesterday…

The way he'd been sweating this morning… this _chilly_ morning…

He should have seen it… he'd failed him… he'd failed…

And Shawn just kept gripping the phone.

0o0o0o0o0

He sat for hours; uncounted time that bled by while his father's temperature started to rise higher. Several times he fumbled with the cell that he'd yet been able to put down. He wanted to call Gus… he needed someone else to be there. But the furthest he managed to dial were the first three numbers before slapping the casing back together. He knew Gus had to be upset with him. He'd practically chased the man from his father's house after all. It wasn't Gus's fault. Gus wasn't to blame for any of this. Actually, coming right down to it- it was his own fault. He- the 'all seeing psychic'. What a damn joke.

He'd missed the dart that hit the bowl of potatoes.

He'd stood like a manikin and let himself and his father get taken out.

He hadn't fought hard enough to escape his restraints.

He hardly resisted when Mae had… when she first…

And it had been humiliating… how she touched him…

It hadn't just been the act itself… it had been the way she carried it out… continuous, almost gently at first… but brutal in her debasement of his body… forcing sensations of pleasure… mocking his reactions as he desperately tried to just not feel…

And he was mortified… by how he'd let her do that to him once… then begged her the second time…

He could see now… he'd encouraged her… he'd all but told her he wanted her…

And when she came for him that third time… He could have fought! He could have knocked her away! So what if she shot him- it would have been better than…

Shawn dug his fingers in his hair, standing hunched by the tall windows of the waiting room. If he pulled hard enough, maybe he could force the memories away. If he pulled hard enough… hard enough to hurt… maybe he'd lock onto something else… some other sensation… some other voice… some other…

0o0o0o0o0

They were keeping his father for a few days… observation. The wound had definitely become infected… something they could have controlled had Henry not chosen to check out early his doctor was quick to point out.

Shawn stayed at the hospital all night. Thankfully, due to the loosened restrictions about visiting hours, he wasn't chased from the room by nurses wielding clipboards. Not that they'd need to do much. One moment of being slightly passed out in his chair and slender fingers had pressed against his shoulder. Inarticulate and wheezing, he'd lashed out- barely missing the startled candy-striper as she was asking if he wanted a cot.

Embarrassed, he'd mumbled a 'thank you I'm fine' while subtly tucking his shivering form on the side of the bed closest to the wall. Her confused look reinforced the knowledge that there was nothing subtle in hiding behind daddy- unconscious or not.

After that, he reinstituted the plan from previous nights, digging nails into his wrists whenever his head started to dip or his eyes tried to roll out of focus. Only once did he start to drift, but the splintering tug on bound wrists wrenched above his head snapped him awake better than concentrated Red Bull in an IV.

Tired as he was, he could stay awake forever to avoid feeling that.

0o0o0o0o0

"Go home."

"Dad, I'm not going home… I want to make sure you're okay."

"You have to go home, you have a session this afternoon- but you need to take a shower first. You smell like you've been sleeping in road kill."

"I can't go anyhow, I don't have a ride…"

"I'll ask Gus to take..."

"No."

His father sighed, shifting slightly until a wince stopped him. "Shawn… you have to talk to him son…"

"I will… I will but… I just can't right now… I can't…"

Henry didn't look away, nor did he drop the reason for their discussion. "You still need to go to the clinic- it isn't debatable." He finished, overriding Shawn when he opened his mouth.

"Well I'm not walking."

The older man lifted his brows. "You're not skipping either. Hand me my phone."

"Who are you calling?" Asked Shawn suspiciously as he passed over the cell.

Henry didn't answer. Instead, he tapped one of his speed dial codes, then lifted the device to his ear. Leaning back against the pillow, he suddenly smiled. "Detective Lassiter- it's Henry. Listen, I was wondering if you could do something for me…"

0o0o0o0o0

The ride with the detective had been awkward. The last time he'd seen the man was when he'd been shoving ham and cheese on rye in his face while his father had been wrapping several layers of gauze around a bleeding gash.

Lassiter was not the chatty type, so avoiding conversation wasn't a problem. Avoiding the occasional odd glance, though… At any rate, he'd been actually grateful to jump from the car after a hurried confirmation of when he was supposed to be picked up again.

And then he had to endure another session, locked in a group with nothing to discuss except how they'd been betrayed by people they knew- men that should have been friends… family… trusted…

And throughout, Shawn tried not to hear, tried not to envision.

And then Darrin looked his way. "Shawn, do you feel up to talking today?"

Talk? Sure, why not. I got just the story for Junior here.

Once upon a time there was a young man who, prior to a certain day, had a sometimes thriving business catching bad guys. He had only a few great desires, this man- one of them involving seeing how tall he could stack a pyramid of pineapples. The other was to see how many times he had to flirt with a certain female detective before she finally gave in and dated him.

Then, one day, something terrible happened. A scary woman with three heads grabbed the young man and his father, and whisked them away to a dungeon where she tortured them and didn't let them eat or drink. Then, she decided that wasn't fun, so she started touching the man, making him feel things he didn't want to feel- and laughing at him when the touch made him cry.

Finally, though, another man came to the rescue. But before they could break free, the scary woman came back, and slew the rescuer before wounding the father. Then, she hurt the young man again, and tied him up. Finally, after taunting him some more, she forced herself on him, and took away everything that that man was.

And now, the man isn't a man anymore. Now, he doesn't eat pineapples, because food makes him sick. And he doesn't talk to the female detective, because other women make him afraid. And he doesn't leave his home, and he doesn't live his life, because… because now… after being hurt so badly… he's afraid that he might not know how anymore.

Shawn's hands were shaking, so he clasped them around his elbows. Darrin was still looking at him, waiting for his response.

Glancing up briefly, Shawn shook his head. "No."

0o0o0o0o0

A check above the door showed it was ten after. Lassiter was apparently running late. No matter, plenty of reading material around. He scoped out the purple and cream brochures dotting the office. Okay, yes there was reading material… but read-able was open for debate.

A young couple was walking through the door across from him. The woman looked up, then gasped, cringing away. He backed up a little, aware that a guy hanging around by the front desk of a rape clinic wasn't likely to be very assuring.

The woman turned to the man, pulling his shoulder down so she could whisper frantically. After a moment, the man's eyed widened. Pulling away from the woman, he strode across the carpet towards the other man.

"Are you Shawn Spencer?"

He frowned slightly, nodding. "Ye…"

His body collided with the desk before he'd even realized a punch had been thrown. The girl screamed, and Ophelia rapidly called security. Meanwhile, the man had grabbed his shoulders and thrown him into the wall, smashing his fist into Shawn's gut. His legs folded as he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath through the blood running over his chin. Thank God security wasn't busy hammering back on the Krispy Kremes or he'd probably be wearing that guy's boot as a hat. They arrived in seconds, peeling the man's fingers away from his sleeves and forcing him from the room, followed by the wailing woman.

Meanwhile, Ophelia knelt by his side. He was too aching to flinch away when she placed her hand on his shoulder. Coughing, he finally sucked in a quavering gasp as he carefully pushed himself to his knees. Blinking hazily, he was grateful for the tissue the woman provided, pressing it against the flow pouring from his nostrils.

Of course it would be now that his far too late ride would appear.

"Good God Spencer, what did you do now??!"


	20. Rage

Okay, really, it was barely fifteen minutes past the time he was supposed to be picking the guy up. Fifteen minutes! Yet somehow, within that span of time, the man had succeeded in pulling off a very convincing Rocky impersonation- pick your sequel.

Blood was dripping in a steady patter from his nose, despite the soaked Kleenex he held there. And already, the skin was starting to darken with the onset of what would probably be a very impressive bruise. Kneeled by his side, the receptionist held the young man's head back with one hand cupping his skull while the other helped steady the fingers holding the tissue.

"What happened?" Ask Lassiter as he knelt down in front of the other two, peeling back the saturated tissue to assess the damage for himself.

"One of our new clients… walked in, saw Shawn, and her boyfriend just started hitting him."

"They bus ab' seeb be ob' the newb'…" said the younger man thickly.

Of course, the trial. No doubt walking into a rape crisis center- only to come face to face with a man publicly accused of the crime- had been more than a little alarming. Spencer coughed slightly, and Lassiter grabbed his upper arm.

"Here, you should get to a bathroom and clean up."

"Ib can do ib byselb."

Not one to stand in the way of bleeding progress, Lassiter stepped back as the other man levered himself upright with one hand on the wall- leaving behind a morbid, and slightly streaked, flower of red on the off-white paint.

Quickly easing away from the receptionist, Spencer accepted the crutch back that had found a temporary home under a potted plant, and gingerly limped his way down the hall to the bathroom.

By now, a few other employees had gathered, including an older woman in a blue blouse and jacket whose demeanor strongly identified her as someone in charge.

"Hello, Marilyn Goldman." She held out her hand briefly. "Would you mind joining me in my office for just a moment?"

Lassiter dropped her hand, slightly confused. "I really should wait…"

"It'll just take a moment."

Shrugging, he followed. Her office was just a short distance down a hallway dotted with the sort of schmaltzy encouragement posters he'd seen in the therapist's office back when he was still struggling to deny his marriage had failed. He wouldn't have been surprised to see one of a sad faced puppy with the caption 'Tomorrow is a Better Day'.

The office itself was more professional, though tastefully embellished with a few plants and several framed photos on the desk.

Marilyn sat down in her chair, gesturing to one of the soft guest chairs before her.

I'll get right to the point, I know you don't want to keep your friend waiting any longer than necessary."

"Friend? I'm not sure you know who I…"

"Head detective Carlton Lassiter of the SBPD? Your… as Shawn puts it, 'strong Irish hairline' was a bit of a give-away."

Lassiter quirked a brow. "When was Spencer talking about me? Better yet, why?"

"After his session today, his counselor was concerned because apparently Shawn is showing signs of regression. He hasn't had any interest in participating in the group sharing exercise- and no attempts to reach out to him have met with any success."

Lassiter crossed his arms, resisting the urge to check his watch. So Spencer didn't want to talk about his assault… honestly, he couldn't blame the guy.

"I know that Shawn's father was taken back to the hospital last night. This means Shawn will be alone for the first time since his attack. I'm very concerned about his state of mind considering he's already made one attempt on his life."

Carlton sighed. "Look, I'm not a babysitter… he already has a best friend…"

"Burton Guster? Shawn mentioned him to me. It seems they've had a bit of a falling out… and now they aren't talking to one another. Look, detective, the thing is- you are one of only five people Shawn tells me he trusts implicitly… and one of only three that he considers a close friend."

The detective sat back slowly… shocked speechless. Spencer thought of him as a friend? A _close_ friend??

"I'm worried that he has no one to reach out to right now… he desperately needs support from those around him. I'm asking you, please, just offer him your friendship. Let him know he isn't alone… that there are still people who care about him."

Mute, Lassiter was unaware for a moment that the little chat had come to a close until Goldman stood and walked to the door. "Thank you for your time. I hope we see you here again."

Pulling himself numbly to his feet, the detective turned down the hall and headed back to the waiting area.

Spencer was hovering by the row of heavily cushioned chairs when he reentered the room. His nose had swollen some, and a distinct fist shape had formed in deep purple on the left side of the abused appendage. The bleeding had stopped, but there were still a few traces remaining on the edge of his nostril. No doubt it was painful work trying to clean up.

"Let's go." Said Lassiter as he brushed past the other man.

Spencer followed without a word, his crutch making a soft thump, thump, thump on the commercial carpeting.

0o0o0o0o0

"Where are we gobing?"

Lassiter frowned. "Spencer, I've been driving for three seconds, you shouldn't be asking me that yet."

"Ib you were gobing back to the hosbitle you'b have turbed aroub' first."

Carlton sighed, rubbing his eyes briefly. "I have no idea what I'm doing. Just trust me okay?"

A small nod, and then the man scratched his arm. "Oo' you think you coulb oo' me a favor…?"

"Dammit Spencer, I will not keep playing Secret Keeper between you and your father!"

"Actually, Ib was just going to seeb if you coulb drop me off at the house after."

Lassiter ground his teeth. "Fine. How long were you planning to stay at the hospital?"

The young man shrugged. "I bon't know… a couble of hours I guess."

There was no further comment as Spencer laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. The detective looked him over quickly while he rested. Damn, that had to hurt. And he didn't miss the way the guy was rubbing a hand across his ribs either.

Turning his eyes back to the road, Lassiter clenched the wheel tightly, a used but still true phrase lodged in his head. He did not get paid enough.

0o0o0o0o0

"If you're going to relax- you can do it my way. And I don't knit."

Spencer lifted the small revolver carefully, eyeing the distant target. "You sure gibing a post-suibicibal man a loabed gub is a wise idea?"

"No. Which is why the bullets are rubber. But feel free, I'm sure you could probably still kill yourself with that." He lined up for a shot. "And not that I would EVER give you a loaded gun anyhow- I get the feeling you prefer the more dramatic route considering how you went all 'Girl Interrupted' last time."

He admitted he was a little surprised at the congested chuckles he heard.

Then, turning back to his own target, he pressed the tiny buds in his ears and sighted down the length of steel. After that, all he thought about was the placement of little round holes.

Some time later, after having expended about three clips apiece, they hit the retrieve buttons and waited while the peppered targets trundled slowly forward. Spencer pulled off his first, having arrived just seconds before Lassiter's. Ignoring the other man while he examined his own grouping, Lassiter heard a faint crushing sound. Turning, pulling out his ear plugs, he saw the wadded remains of the other man's target land in a nearby receptacle.

"That was great… canb I go to the hosbidle now?"

Without waiting, the other man set his spent gun on the counter in front of Lassiter and made for the exit.

Brow wrinkled, Lassiter walked back to the trash can and lifted out the crumpled paper.

Unfolding it, he blinked.

It was perfect.

0o0o0o0o0

It felt vacant… being back in the house. All the sounds that were normally discarded now magnified around him.

Even with his presence in the room, it felt absent of life.

He'd ended up staying at the hospital for three hours, part of the time spent trying to explain what had happened to his face. A very sympathetic nurse had offered him an ice pack, and the sensation of the chilled plastic against his skin had been heavenly.

Finally, though, his father had started to drift off, and he knew it was time to go.

In the car, heading back to the house, Lassiter had repeatedly given him long looks. It was more than unnerving. "What?" He asked in weary irritation, feeling for an odd moment like he and the detective had suddenly exchanged personalities.

"You look like hell."

Okay, definitely no exchange. Though the idea of channeling the other man was equally unappealing to contemplate.

Lassiter turned away, gripping the wheel of the unmarked vehicle. His brows were furrowed, and there was the strangest look in his eyes… like he'd bought a carton of eggs only to find the package stuffed with hand grenades.

Brushing aside the other man's contemplation, Shawn turned to face towards the window, bringing up one hand to pinch at his stuffed nose. "OUCH!"

"What?"

"Nothing." Dammit. Okay, note to self. Crunched cartilage equals no tampering. However, the congestion was still there, and judging by the way it made his fingers twitch, he had a feeling this was a lesson that would require remedial classes.

"Look, Spencer…"

God, he wanted to talk…

"I'll be fine…"

"Just shut up."

He glanced over in surprise, but Lassiter was still facing forward, long fingers twisting in discomfort on the ridged edge of the wheel.

"I'm not… I'm not good with... I don't do buddy talks." He stopped again, and Shawn watched him in mute curiosity. _Buddy?_

"Your father isn't going to be around for a few days. You won't have someone at the house to keep an eye on you. I just want you to consider what it will do to Henry if he arrives home just to find you'd made a dramatic exit on living room carpet."

Shawn looked out the front window. "I'm… I'm not going to…"

"If you try, I will follow through with my promise to put a bullet in you."

Shawn's forehead wrinkled. "I can't tell you how on how many levels that bosen't bake sense."

Unsmiling, the detective pulled to a stop in front of the house, setting the vehicle in park before turning sideways.

"Promise me."

Shawn scratched his wrist, exhaling heavily as he looked out the passenger window towards his father's home. Finally, nodding, he glanced at the other man. "I promise."

Now, standing in the living room, he leaned on his crutch and stared at the dark television screen in front of him.

Well he'd better get comfortable, he had a strong feeling sleep would not be welcome for several nights.

0o0o0o0o0

Karen grinned as she dropped the phone back to her desk.

Thank God, thank God!

Walking swiftly to the glass door of her office, she yanked it open, scanning until she located the blonde head of Juliet O'Hara bent over her desk, pen moving rapidly over a file.

"O'Hara!"

The younger woman looked up with a slight cringe. Good Lord, one reprimand and a small accusation of harassment from a misunderstanding over a dessert and the detective practically flailed when she was addressed by her Chief.

"My office."

Biting her lip, tucking her file in a drawer, the detective approached warily, her arms stiffly at her sides as she entered the room.

Shutting the door, Vick moved to stand in front of the other woman. "Where's your partner?"

"He… he went to pick up Shawn from the hospital and give him a ride home. Chief, what's going on?"

"I just received a call from Martha Clark. They're dropping the case against Mr. Spencer."

O'Hara's eyes widened. "They… Oh my God that's wonderful! I'll call detective Lassiter right away! What about Shawn, does he know yet? And Henry? Oh, and Gus needs to be called too!"

Karen smiled at the younger woman's enthusiasm. "I'll let you take care of spreading the good cheer. I've got my own calls to make."

Letting a much more enthusiastic detective leave her office, Karen walked back around her desk. Her face smoothed out, eyes hardening as she lifted the receiver a second time. Now that that Spencer's trial couldn't be used as an arguing point by whatever lawyer the Fraternal Order managed to find- it was time to begin the process of setting up Officer Smart with brand new accommodations. Preferably ones that included evenly spaced bars.

0o0o0o0o0

Four a.m.

Twice, in spite of the stimulation of a late night Mothra marathon, Shawn had fallen asleep on the couch. Both times, he drifted into a dank and flickering room- pain shooting through his leg and side- struggling weakly beneath Mae as she pressed the gun into his cheek… tore at his waistband… forced her body over him…

Twice he woke up gasping, clawing towards the familiar emptiness of the room around him.

The second time he jerked out of the dream-memory, he'd dragged himself to his feet, limping awkwardly across the room and towards the stairs. A shower… definitely a shower. And after the shower, lots and lots of coffee. Breathing through his mouth, his nose still stinging, he grabbed the railing with one hand and started up the carpeted stairs.

He also made a fierce resolution. No matter what. When tomorrow came, he was going to call Gus. Maybe, if he apologized stringently enough, his friend would forgive him. And maybe he wouldn't have to spend another night with just his own head for company.

0o0o0o0o0

Shawn hovered over the sink a little longer, his hands braced on the porcelain edges. The T shirt and jeans he'd slipped into after drying clung to him uncomfortably. Still, he'd put up with it. He hated being exposed for any length of time these days, regardless of the reason.

He felt drained… completely hollowed out from the whipsaw emotions incurred by the trial- not to mention everything that had come before.

Part of him just wished he could lay down and never wake up again… without the dreams. But he couldn't do that. He'd made a promise… to Lassiter of all people… that he'd try.

But it was so hard.

Sighing, he splashed some more water on his face, clearing away the rest of the shaving cream. He hadn't shaved in… well a while, and he'd decided if he was going to take a shower, he might as well get rid of his beard too. And it really did feel good- save for the two spots where he'd nicked himself. Well he should have expected a few minor lacerations- the shower had been skin-reddening hot, and consequently, the mirror had fogged over. Even wiping it off didn't help much as the suspended moisture just beaded over the surface again.

Yawning widely, reaching out blindly, he felt for the towel-rack.

Two hands grasped his skull, driving him forward to smash into the mirror. A spiderweb of cracks snapped out from the point of impact, along with a light spray of blood drops. Collapsing instantly, he flopped loosely to the tile floor, his hands resting on either side of his head.

Rubber soles squeaked, and coughing weakly, he tried to force his eyes to focus. But he couldn't see anything beyond the new pair of Nike's and jean covered legs. Something salty was dripping across his lip… metallic, coppery. He wanted to wipe it away, but his arms were still trying to remember how they connected to his body.

"Funny how we always seem to end up in a bathroom together."

His mind suggested that he knew that voice…

The sneakers squeaked again as they passed in front of his eyes, pacing over the wet floor, leaving ghost impressions in the fading moisture.

"You know… I considered approaching this a different way… seeing just how fun you might be. But then… I am far more interested in having you suffer. And I don't want to do anything that might possibly bring you pleasure. Especially considering your proclivities in that area."

Shawn blinked suddenly.

_Smart_…

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he gasped when fingers dug into his hair, yanking him to his knees. Clawing at thick wrists, he panted in fear as a mouth pressed close to his earlobe, the other hand wrapping loosely around his throat.

"However… I might still reconsider. I guess it all depends on how quickly you can get to a phone." His hand bumped over the chain around Shawn's neck, then slid down his front.

"GET OFF ME YOU PEVERTED FUCK!" Shawn swung his arm, burying his elbow in the other man's gut. It wasn't a powerful blow, but it was enough to loosen the hold on his hair. Tearing free with a few twangy snaps, he grabbed the sink with one hand and stumbled out of the room.

Struggling for every breath, he made it to the stairs- half falling as his abused body made a determined effort to send him the rest of the way on his ass. Hitting the base of the stairs in a crumbling half-fall, he tripped over his own feet as he tried to lunge towards the living room.

He got as far as the divide between carpet and wood floor when a blow between his shoulder blades sent him chest first against the back of the couch. Rolling, fighting grimly for every pull of breath, he slid down to the floor and pressed his back against the rough fabric.

Through his pain, he could hear a rhythmic hollow thunk as something wooden dropped with repeated tripping cadence on the hard floor.

"They'll be sending me to jail… did you know that? I caught that little snippet this afternoon. First, a week of unpaid leave. Now, ha, I'm looking at actual time… all courtesy of the HD and his little psychic fuck boy."

'Thunk'

Shawn somehow pried his eyes apart, focusing his skittering gaze on the thick shape standing a few feet away. Smart was holding something… something long and tapered…

The other man chuckled. "I found this in your garage… reminded me of little league. I'm guessing you won't have the same associations though."

'Thunk'

"Wait…" Shawn brought up one hand, pressing even more tightly against the back of the couch.

"Ooohh… do you need some time to beg? It's fine… we have a little time… and I want this to last a while." Smart still stood in front of him, repetitively dropping the head of the bat against the floor, letting it bounce slightly before lifting it again.

"If you kill me it's a death penalty…"

'Thunk'

Blood ran into his eyes, and Shawn moved his hand to wipe it away.

"Well I really don't plan to kill you."

The bat struck his ribs, throwing him to the floor and reducing his cry of pain to a shallow wheeze. There was no time to recover as another blow struck him in the middle of the back. _**"GHUUUHH!"**_

He curled his fingers as he tried to drag himself away, but a rough kick knocked his elbow out from under him. "Stop!"

"Kid, I've been wanting this for longer than you can know."

He was aware that was screaming raggedly as the crushing strikes began falling with regularity. At one point, he heard a thick crunch as a hit impacted his right arm. It seemed to last forever. Sensation scattered, and the only way he knew he was still being beaten was the smacking sound the bat made as it slammed into his flesh.

Then, suddenly, it was over.

He couldn't move. He barely breathed. But he was very aware that he hadn't passed out as the other man, gasping now from exertion, crouched down in front of him.

"If I wanted to… you couldn't stop me from taking you. You know that."

He grabbed Shawn's chin, pulling his face to the side.

"As it is… I have… other commitments..."

Then the disgraced cop stood. Shawn could hear something… a whistling sound… and then an agonizing explosion in his cheek…


	21. Hurt

His hand emerged from the covers five seconds before the alarm went off, just like every morning. It was a habit he couldn't break. Actually, he didn't mind so much. It was a matter of discipline. And he knew, even if there was a complete blackout, he'd still get to work on time.

He was just pulling the hand back when the alarm clock exploded.

"Shit!"

Throwing himself to the side, he barely dodged as another strike from… something… whapped against the sheets of his bed.

Colliding with the floor in a twisted mass of cotton and heavy brocaded quilt, Lassiter wriggled free from the soft pile just as something crushing thwacked into his hip. "GAH-DAMMIT!"

More curses vied for attention when he remembered his revolver was on the opposite side of the bed. And that solid object was swinging for him again.

Rolling in a completely undignified James Bond sans gun and grace impersonation, feet skimming across the bureau, Carlton managed to avoid the blow aiming for his face. His bedside lamp, though, gave up its life to save him in a flashpop of sparked light and crunching glass. Not a huge distraction, but it earned him two seconds of bearing getting while he ascertained that a man wielding a bat probably wasn't packing heat or he'd simply have shot him when he was still in hibernation.

Offence not being his favorite side of the field, Lassiter immediately launched himself towards the shapeless form as it pulled the long shaft of wood from the pulverized shade of the thoroughly murdered lamp.

His shoulder struck center of mass, knocking both of them with a double thud to the carpet. Grunting, the other person fumbled with his weapon, bringing it up to shove against Lassiter's throat. Before he could be pushed away though, the detective unapologetically rammed his knee upward at a precise angle- and bat boy yelled before loosening his grip on his little toy in favor of curling on his side.

Not wasting a moment, Carlton followed up the blunt force neutering with two sharp punches to the face. That, though not completely disabling his opponent, was enough to stun him until the detective could toss the bat away and pull himself to the bed-side table where both his gun, and extra set of handcuffs, waited neatly to be made useful.

Now restrained, lying on his stomach, the assailant moaned into the short loops of Berber while Lassiter limped to the light switch. The sudden brightness made his eyes water as he blinked away dancing spots. Probably wouldn't be needing the extra sugar and cream today… black suddenly sounded very appealing.

Officer Jud Smart was on his floor.

Still blinking, mouth slightly open, Lassiter frowned in shock at the sight of another uniform dazed and bleary handcuffed on his carpet. Shaking his head slightly, he looked towards the mostly stripped surface of his bed where the bat had come to rest. His brows pulled together as he took in the marred length. Stepped forward, he leaned down to get a closer look, and felt something twist sickly. There was blood stained across the wood. And it was fresh.

Swallowing, he moved back to crouch in front of the heavier man, flicking his fingers against one sweated cheek.

"Hey, Babe Ruth, you think you'd like to explain yourself before I drag your miserable ass to my car?"

Gaze clearing, Smart turned his shoulders slightly for a better look at the looming figure above. Lassiter was prepared for the typical smarmy defense… maybe even a noxious gust of alcohol-laced breath. What he didn't anticipate was the sudden shuddering of dry laughter that issued past a bloodied lip.

"I figured you might be a slightly more adept target… glad I waited to do you last…"

_What?_

Bunched cloth fit nicely in his hands as the detective leaned into the hazy exhalations smelling distinctly of bad hygiene and poorly digested feta.

"What did you do!"

More chuckles, and Smart closed his eyes in satisfaction. "I knew that shield was just decoration."

Sleep had been banished the moment his clock crossed over to pay John Edwards a visit. Now the adrenaline started to seep away as well- and function returned to his jostled brain as realization slapped him in the back of the head.

Leaning down quickly, he released one of the meaty hands from a steel bracelet. Then, tugging the thick body, he got the man up to his knees and braced against the foot of his bed. With one hand still on Smart's shoulder, the other holding the unshackled hand, he leaned in tightly.

"Resist me."

The other man blinked, brow furrowed. "Wha…?"

"I said, resist me!" Barked Lassiter, practically brushing noses. Smart jerked back on reflex, and the detective grinned tightly.

"Good enough."

Swinging fast, he smashed his knuckles against the spongy jaw, hearing a deeply pleasurable crack followed by a pained yell. Pulling back his fist, he buried it a second time in the small space between the sternum and overhanging gut. Stolen of breath, the next yelp was all air as Smart began to slump forward.

Wrenching back on his arms, Lassiter weaved the empty cuff through the thickest part of baseboard on his bed's frame. The position looked like it strained.

Standing quickly, he pulled his shoulder holster from the coat rack and slipped it across T shirt covered and over-exerted muscles. Barely remembering to grab the wadded trousers from his floor, he opted for the Don Johnson preferred footwear and darted from the house with his cell crushed against his lips.

Dropping into his car, key slapping the steering column before managing to slide into the ignition, he probably deafened the poor girl manning dispatch as he ordered a patrol to his house and a bus to meet him at his destination.

Foot pressed flush to the floor, hip stinging like mad, he dropped the spent phone to the passenger seat and gunned for the freeway- his speed fueled by two overwhelming thoughts- the likelihood of what he'd find after putting his car in park, and the realization that Henry Spencer was going to kill him.

0o0o0o0o0

The sliding glass door was smashed.

Any possible illusions that he was jumping the gun evaporated at the sight of the curtains flowing out through the demolished opening.

Gravel kicking beneath his heels, Lassiter barreled across the short bit of yard, turning sideways as he avoided the few remaining shards of glass protruding from the cracked red molding.

He saw him immediately. Shawn Spencer, resident annoyance, was sprawled on the floor behind the couch, body haloed by a peppering of small dark drops. Kneeling quickly, Carlton pressed his fingers against the other man's throat.

Thready, weak, but still pumping.

Turning his attention to the multitude of injuries, he cringed at the right arm that seemed to have gained an additional joint in the last twenty four hours. Gingerly lifting the ruin of the other man's T shirt, he bit back a moan at the mottled flesh- torn in places from repeated blows. Probing carefully, he figured the guy must have at least two broken ribs, if not more. Lowering the shirt again, he finally made himself take in the man's face. The nose was the least of Spencer's worries at this point. At least one hit had collided with the side of his head. The cheek was badly swollen, dried blood painted across his skin in a blackish-red swath. There was very little hope that the man didn't have a concussion; not that it would make any difference if the ambulance driver didn't start running red lights.

He turned his face anxiously towards the broken window, hoping to see strobing reflections in the fading dark, when he heard a weak groan.

His eyes pivoted downward in disbelief as Spencer's lips pulled back from his teeth.

"Huuuunnnnnnnnhhh…" he breathed achingly as the fingers of his left hand twitched against the floor.

"Woah… don't move… just keep still…"

"Sma… Smaaaart…" the name rasping over broken lips.

"Currently adding to the ambiance of my bedroom. Just relax Spencer, the ambulance will be here any second."

"…d-didn't… want to…"

Okay, not like he expected the other man to listen, but talking really had to hurt. "Tell me later, just shut up and keep playing dead before you really do cross over to the great beyond."

He may as well have been lambasting a toaster.

"…tried…to figh… didn't… w-wan…to…die…"

He realized in seconds the level of meaning behind what the man was saying, and over the wailing cry of the 'finally' approaching emergency vehicle, stepping down on the unexpected dart of emotion, he leaned forward and placed a hesitant hand on a battered shoulder.

"You won't."

0o0o0o0o0

Henry crawled towards consciousness with a certain determined reluctance. His medication may be keeping the pain at a comfortable minimum, but that didn't mean he enjoyed the loopy rolling kayak sensation side effects.

Still, alertness wasn't really debatable as his lids made a steady upwards track- bringing a bleary and smudged form into focus at the side of his nicely padded prison cell.

"Henry…"

"Carton…" he frowned as he took in the more than disheveled- normally impeccably clean cut head detective. "You get hit by a bus?"

Lassiter dragged slender fingers through his lightly grey speckled short hair, eyes roaming to a point somewhere down and to the left.

"Henry… uh…mm…"

"You're dragging your feet detective, and my patience is at a premium so why not quit the bluster and spill it."

His voice may have been weak, his badge gathering dust in a locked cabinet next to his service weapon and signed certificate of discharge, but he could still intimidate when called for. And head detective or not, even Lassiter wasn't immune under his firm gaze.

The other man didn't shift his feet- didn't clear his throat, break into a sweat, or get- _God help us_- misty eyed; but reluctant discomfort marked his every word as he raised his head and spoke.

"It's about your son…"

0o0o0o0o0

He couldn't think… couldn't even see as insane trolls ran wild and rabid through the field of grey that used to be his brain- stopping now and then to jab small pickaxes into the soft, yielding landscape. Apparently these trolls also possessed a fierce attraction to other parts of his body as well as they crawled through the tenderized steak coating his pulverized skeleton, digging in their untrimmed toenails as they explored the torn shreds of throbbing tissue.

Movement was a pipedream as the straps locking him to the moving bed kept him bagged and tagged under the swiftly passing patches of white fluorescent. Each sucked in breath shifted the clattering fragments of bone in his sides. Each barely contained sob pounded behind his eyes, radiating licks of fire down his jaw. He noted the unfairness of continued consciousness. Weren't head injuries a get out of awake free card? Apparently his physiology had never played Monopoly.

Something brushed across his right arm, and keeping back the scream made the pickaxes stabbing his chest dig in with sudden ferocity. Please God, just a few seconds of not having to be here for this…

Grace was in short supply however as the rolling surface jerked to a stop under patterned tiles- overlapped by faces as his lids were pried open- then inundated with flashes of bright light.

"Uneven dilation, delayed response…"

Hands pressed his sides, prodded his belly, traced over his legs. Every touch was agony, and he shivered as he held himself tightly coiled, crushing verbal response…

Until fingers glided across his arm.

The scream must have made his tormentors aware that, yes, he was still very much present for their recreation of Mel Gibson's final moments in Braveheart; and he realized the cry for 'freedom' would work just as well in this situation as it did in the film.

The blurred voices overhead became more urgent, words no longer in English… or any other identifiable language as finally, mercifully, the creeping shroud of fading to black slipped cold fingers around his vision and dragged him down.

0o0o0o0o0

Tongue lashing didn't even touch the scalding abuse hurled at him from the enraged man nearly vaulting from the tousled sheets. Nor were scurrying medical personnel immune either as the old man all but tossed them aside in his efforts to drop his feet to the linoleum. Strong arm tactics might have been required had not the man's doctor appeared with an update and a wheelchair. The over handed toss of "You can explain this to Gus" was not lost on him either as a final punishment.

It was about then, of course, that he remembered his phone was still resting in disgrace amidst the stakeout litter of his front seat. And unlike the mangled young man that the call was regarding, he didn't have the sidekick's number recorded into memory. Sacrificing haste for common sense, he placed a hand on his battered hip and made his way out of the room.

Did he say he didn't get paid enough? There wasn't a rate scale created that could justify this sort of day. Hell, the hazard pay alone would allow him to retire before his next birthday.

Then he groaned. Did he think Henry was bad? Once the Chief and O'Hara got through with him, he'd be lucky if there were enough fragments remaining to put in the ground. A matchbox coffin would probably be generous.

Of course, that was entirely dependent on whether or not Guster was the type to exact vengeance. Stepping into the parking garage, he couldn't erase the image of his body delicately tumbling up the sloping hood and windshield of a small blue car.


	22. I Had A Bad Dream

Never simple, never easy, never without the most amount of injury that could possibly be incurred. Never even surprising… not anymore.

He should have known what he was in for that first school picture day when something managed to enter the shot and wing him in the head just as the flash distracted his natural ducking instinct. Sure it made for an awesome photo, but the dent in his temple still demanded retribution when he was capable of vertical locomotion again.

The son of a bitch didn't even try to deny his involvement either. Actually, as his somewhat hazy recollections of the encounter suggested- he'd been rather proud of his aim…

Then, of course, there were the vast and heteromorphic ways with which they'd plummeted their bodies off every conceivable elevated platform- including the tree house (models one, two, and Sammy Floyd), Edna Burkinstock's seventy-six Chevy Vandura, and the elephant from the traveling circus. Okay, that last one hadn't been quite as intentional- they'd only planned to borrow the elephant during the promotional ride and take him for a swim. Well, that's what Shawn claimed anyhow. Of course, his best friend always did have a soft spot when it came to animals. He probably wanted to return the beast to the wild. Though Santa Barbara was a bit of a trek from Africa…

Gus scrubbed a hand across his lashes. God Shawn…

Regardless of what remembered incident his brain shoved across his cortex, he'd never imagined his friend anywhere near this state. It was agonizing to see Shawn's body so shattered. His right arm was completely immobilized, ribs captured in a heavy brace, head wrapped in gauze… In addition to the broken bones his left shoulder had been forcibly separated, and there was significant damage to his lower back. The doctors had been very upfront, and Gus's hands had started shaking when the phrase 'possible loss of sensation' came up. After everything his friend had endured- if he ended up paralyzed…

"He wake up yet?"

Soft, subdued, contrite, and not a tone he'd ever expected to hear from Carlton Lassiter.

Gus was still vacillating between wanting to brain the man and wanting to hug him for being there for the limping accident when said limping gimpy's best friend was otherwise occupied with self-indulgent guilt. Not like his remorse was getting any sort of boost considering.

"No."

The older man hung in the door, and Gus didn't bother to turn and face him. For him, the only person that mattered was the one loaded up with so many pain meds he'd be lucky if he woke up again this year.

He heard shuffling steps, and realized Lassiter was limping into the room. He'd been peripherally aware that the detective had taken some hits in subduing… that monster… but at the time he'd been so enraged that Shawn had been left alone… Dammit, someone should have called him!! No matter what was going on, he'd have broken land speed records to be there for his friend!

His jaw was protruding furiously again as Lassiter came to rest at his side.

"It's my fault."

You're damn straight it is- wait… what?

"I blew it… should have thought that…"

Gus clenched his hands on his knees. "You're right- you failed. You left a guy… who'd been torn apart… by himself." His voice was shaking when he placed one hand on the white sheet. And then he swallowed. "But I blew it too."

He couldn't say more as he stared at the pathetic and bruised visage in front of him.

Lassiter shifted again, and then he breathed out firmly. "Looks like babysitting duty for the foreseeable future."

Gus clenched his teeth, nodding in silent conspiracy. When Shawn woke up, he'd be lucky if he could _shower_ alone!

Then he flushed. God he was sure glad he hadn't voiced that sentiment.

0o0o0o0o0

The sun was barely dipping into the waves- deep and russet orange, it shot soft strokes of tempered light across the beach. The cool waves lapped clucking against the base of his feet- somewhat chilly- but generally ignored as soft hands traced across his shoulders.

Three days in Hawaii, and he'd met her. Not the leaf bedecked hula girl he'd been imagining- she was actually from San Diego. Still, he wasn't complaining- not at all. Her name was Gina, hair the same color as the setting sun, skin a shade that would make Gus look like Michael Jackson- the National Inquirer version, and a very vocal love of… being vocal.

She hadn't been shy about her interest in him either.

This morning, they'd walked across the lava fields- him whining somewhat when nothing more than smoke made a showing. Then they'd wandered a winding trek down to the beach- where they spent the rest of the afternoon swimming around the reef, crashing a wedding for the barbecue, and singing an impromptu song of love to the happy couple. Okay, confused couple- but he stood by his assertion that Meatloaf was perfectly appropriate for sending off a new marriage.

Then, finding a secluded strip of sand, he'd made passionate love to her in the fading light.

Alright, yes, it sounded a little… Fabio-ish… but definitely more romantic than

crazy naked joint-popping origami sex. Though that second one was certainly more accurate. And finally, dropping to the sand in the aftermath of well spent adrenaline, they'd decided to watch the sun on its evening journey into the water.

Her wrist was draped over his shoulder, fingers topped with pink nails adorned with little green palm trees. He turned his chin, and she placed a fingertip against his lips, earning a soft kiss.

"I had fun." She said quietly.

He grinned, ignoring the tiny twinge in his back. He wasn't really surprised at the soreness, he'd never been one for the whole 'kids are in bed, lets have a romp before the news comes on' position.

Waves lapped coldly against his feet, causing a small shiver. When had the temperature started to drop?

"I'm ready again when you are." She whispered.

He blushed a little, in spite of their very recent activity. Combing a hand through his hair, he coughed slightly. "Uuhh… I um… might need a few more…"

"Come on baby… you know you want it…"

Something was off in her tone, and he sat up quickly- brushing her fingers away when she reached for him.

"I-I…uh… need to… you know… I should probably…"

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back. "What's the matter, I thought you enjoyed playing the bitch."

Jerking away, he stumbled over his feet and landed hard- his back slamming against a metal wall. The water had risen around him, and he was now sitting in an inch of dank liquid. Pain erupted along his left side, traveling into his leg with steady bolts. Trying to drop his arms to massage the hurt, he suddenly found them bound above his head.

Gina stood before him, pulling a thin shirt over her face. When the hem passed across her chin, her skin rippled, shifting and reforming into younger features… thinner lips… narrow cheeks… large brown eyes…

_Mae!_

He tore at the bindings around his wrists, arching his back to try to rip free. Ignoring his attempt, she dropped her stripped body across his lap.

"You… you… you… said you…"

She smiled at his frantic stuttering. "Oh… it won't be so bad sweetheart… deep down… I know you've been wanting this… you proved that twice. Why else would you be so… responsive."

He was dreaming… he had to be dreaming- he had to! He already knew what she would say… he already knew what would happen! He had to wake up! He had to wake up!

_**LET ME WAKE UP!!**_

0o0o0o0o0

Henry stared up at the ceiling, IV in his arm, fuming. Due to his current state of healing, his doctor had enforced restricted visitation at his son's bedside. At the moment, he wasn't allowed more than an hour at a time, with three hours of rest in between.

As he did not beg, plead, or cajole like some sissy fourth-grader, he was left to compromise with solid threats. Regretfully, those didn't seem to be as potent considering he still struggled to use the bathroom on his own.

All in all though, he was grateful the kid wouldn't be by himself. Gus had become a permanent resident of room four twenty three, a wrath-like creature that glared first and asked questions later. Henry understood though- knowing the young man was torn up with guilt. Hell, they all were at this point- each for their own reasons.

Tapping one finger against the bed rail, he checked the wall clock again. Well, whoopty-doo, a whole seven minutes had gone by while he'd been musing sullenly. That meant he had only two hours and thirty four minutes before he could free himself from his bed again. Why, the time was practically flying past.

Flopping one hand to the bedspread, he felt around until he located the stunted cream remote among the folds of pale cotton. Too late for fishing shows, way to late for soaps… as if he really actually watched them anyhow… He flipped past Craig Ferguson with hardly a pause- _if that bastard has a real accent I'll eat my left ring finger_- and finally settled on World Series Poker. After twenty seconds he turned it off- unable to shake the memory of an exuberant grin, tongue hanging out in obnoxious mockery as cupped hands pulled too easily won chips across a soft topped table.

_"Dad I don't gamble, I win…"_

He rubbed a hand across his face and rolled to his side.

0o0o0o0o0

He sobbed, turning his head into his arm, aching across his entire frame. He felt as though his body were being crushed. His arms were on fire, the right one throbbing with particular intensity. And his chest felt like it was caving in.

Sliding from his body, Mae stood, tipping her head to the side. "Do you think you can scream for me this time? Do you think about me when I'm gone… wanting me… lusting for me…"

He shook his head, panting in terror as she pulled her shirt over her head. No… no it was over! She was going to kill herself, and he was going to pull free! She couldn't start again!

"Please… please n-no more… no mo-more…"

"I thought you enjoyed playing the bitch…"

He choked, quick shallow breaths whicking across his teeth as he tried to rip himself away. Her knees bent as she dropped to his lap- hand thrusting forward, groping…

"…s-stop it… pl-please… please it hurts…"

Her hips rushed against him, and he clenched his teeth.

"It will fade…"

0o0o0o0o0

Gus paced the room, rubbing his arms nervously. For the past hour now, Shawn had been shivering slightly under his blanket. The nurse he'd called to check on him said that all his levels looked normal, but to alert her the moment anything changed.

Still, he couldn't help his anxiety.

Lassiter had drifted away about four hours ago, not able to expend a lot of time at the hospital. And really, Gus understood on that score. The man was still expected to show up at the station in the morning, even if it was just as a desk monkey until his injuries healed. And Henry wasn't around either, having finally passed out from the delicate blend of late night and mild sedative.

So Gus was alone.

He was woefully ill equipped for the Shawn-watch that had fallen on him earlier that day. Had he known his friend would end up pummeled half to death… okay, this was already becoming a circular argument because if he'd known- he wouldn't have been drooling across his pillow when…

Clenching his fists, he made a few more head drooped dragging passes around the clear floor space, sadly small in span, before letting his knees collapse him into the cushy chair he'd commandeered some time ago.

Shawn was still shivering.

Knowing his own inadequacy, Gus filled his palms with his face.

_"This is my personal candy striper, Knick Knack."_

A laugh that hurt jerked from him, and he bit his lips before it could become hysterical. No matter what he did he heard Shawn's voice. Everything that made him smile before now just cut, rough-edged and mindless of placement. Everywhere he was, something purely Shawn existed as well. At home, at work, and even more strongly, in his car. He heard that light tone, pressuring with quick quips and never ending laughter- to dare try something, dare do something he'd never even float were he left on his own.

He didn't like what he was without that.

He wondered, watching the trembling form, if Shawn realized that when he went away, he hadn't just taken himself- but everyone else around him.

In space, when a star collapsed, it created a black hole. All matter was drawn into that deep gravity well, compressed and destroyed, and never to be recovered.

It felt like that without his friend.

A muffled scritching noise lifted his eyes, and he automatically looked towards the bed. Shawn's fingers on his left hand were digging into the sheet, nails dragging in zipped whispers across the thin fabric, while the other hand clenched tightly. There was sweat on his upper lip, and his eyes were moving rapidly beneath his lids.

"Shawn?" He carefully tapped at the clenching fingers on Shawn's immobilized side. But save for a slight head jerk, his friend didn't respond.

He wished the man would just wake up. He knew he needed rest in order to recover, but still… the rolling pupils beneath thin lids, delicate beading of sweat, hands curled and furling… He looked… he looked… terrified.

Pushing back into his chair, his head relapsing into the cradle of his hands, Gus breathed out a mourning sigh.

_Just wake up Shawn…_


	23. Grey

Four days of silent watching- nurses passing by in endless, white-clothed procession while the occasional doctors popped in and out like raisins in a bowl of crispy flakes.

He never saw the sun, didn't render the time by clock tick but by medication given… by bandages changed… by pulse checked- strengthening beat and regulated breath. Now and then, Shawn seemed to rise from the wrapping thickness of his slumber- but only enough for the heart to beat faster, the breath to grow shallow, and sweat to fleck across his mottled skin. Sometimes, he was just monitored. Sometimes, if his distress increased, he was reacquainted with sedatives.

Throughout it all, Gus watched.

Henry was there as frequently as he was able, but his own medical issues kept him tied to his hospital bed most of the time. Nor was his not so patient request for sharing a room granted- the doctors worried about stress on both inmates.

So mostly, Gus was alone. Twice, Lassiter made unannounced visits, both times accompanied by Juliet O'Hara. Though Gus knew the young woman had her own reasons for seeing Shawn, he had the feeling she was mostly there to act as a fleshy bulletproof vest. And their visits were never for very long, work and inability to converse in typical fashion stealing them away in short order.

It didn't matter. Whether other people entered the room or not, Gus didn't really pay attention. There was only one voice he wanted to hear- and not in the muted hollow way as of late… but the loud, word-flubbing, spirit talking, paper-basketball tossing, dad-ribbing, Jules flirting, Lassy mocking one that made him laugh and vent all in the same breath- hilarious frustration in a tousled headed package. That's what he wanted.

0o0o0o0o0

She'd finally left him, battered, drained, empty.

He hadn't been able to pull free… the bindings wrapped around his arms had become steel cables- impossible to move, much less tear away from. It was an odd sensation though. Feeling propped up, yet lying down all at the same time.

And he couldn't escape the crushing pain. He'd long forgotten the idea he was dreaming- lodged firmly in the shifting landscape of echoing and repeated lines- repeated hurts- repeated taunts as he was used, and used, and used.

He didn't know what made her leave him now though. In the midst of lifting her shirt- she'd flickered into the encroaching grey- swallowed by a smothering midst. The sudden absence soaking past him, and he couldn't track the time… slowly started to forget she'd even been there as other events floated around him. He was walking at one point, the street on one side, the beach on the other… taking steps that moved him backward- horizon retreating as he pressed his feet against the soundless strip. He was alone.

He felt the pressure of something on his body. He tried to turn, but then couldn't stop turning as the landscape darted around him in a sickening revolution. Even closing his eyes didn't help- the image bleeding through his lids. His head ached… too warm… pain throbbing in the air around him.

And he was in the water, bobbing over the waves that carried him on a featureless sea, slowly sliding under the green and blue- painted streaks of color as tiny fish, sightless and startled, darted through his reaching hands. Sinking deeper, the water heated, curling around him in a viscous vortex as the moisture started to pull away, becoming heavy air that twisted his arms above his head, thrashing him against a metal surface- punching the air from his lungs.

A shape dropped down from the rolling grey above, a creature with too long arms and spider eyes, wide and brown and flecked with silver. A purple tongue lapped his throat, and he cried out in fear and disgust, trying to pull away, but locked in place by constricting bands around his wrists.

The creature pressed against his chest, panting furiously as it bit into his shoulder. He screamed, head colliding against the solid wall at his back. Snapping eyes, fear glazed and wide, he stared as the beast transformed, skin pale and lips pulled back from small white teeth.

"It's my turn to do what pleases me."

She tore at him, thrust against him, stole what she wanted from him while he bit through his lip, fingers crooked and heels digging into a receding floor. Tugging strain abrading skin- spine twisting as angle and weight pierced sharp darts through disjointed ribs. Steady, endless; humiliation beating its rhythm against his flesh- hungered feculence reducing him to a mere plaything of transitory gratification- rending his frenzied pleading as scorn's fodder in never ceasing and loathsome degradation.

0o0o0o0o0

Shawn was panting again, pupils embossed against the delicate flesh pressed over them, fear sweat wetting the crinkled pillow below. His throat worked as though trying to speak words tightly locked in a constricted dungeon- larynx jumping with unuttered declaration.

"Shawn…"

His hand pressed against the solid muscle bunched beneath a rigid arm, fingers still seeking a hold on flimsy sheets.

"Shawn…"

He needed to wake him up, his obvious anxiety fueling the clenched jaw and grasping hands. Even if just for a break from his treacherous imaginings- even to face his treacherous reality. At least alert, he had others besides himself to lead astray the thoughts that plagued him. And Gus refused to idly contemplate while his friend suffered whatever terrors infested his mind- he had to wake up!

The step scrape behind him announced the close of another three hour stint in solitary for the elder Spencer as he entered- IV pole a makeshift crutch while dragging feet carried him forward to his son's bedside. "Did he…"

"Not yet… but he's going to." Not turning away from his distressed friend, Gus gave the arm a small shake. "Come on Shawn…"

Whatever this forced unconsciousness might do for his health- it appeared to be doing its share of damage too. Never one for night terrors, it seemed the man had discovered an unpleasant affliction Gus himself had left behind when he turned eight. Though not consistent through his many days of recovery- whenever his meds began to taper off- the dreams began again. Now, they manifested even worse as the doctors had been steadily lowering his doses for the last twelve hours, gradually moving him away from the drugged somnolence to a more natural level of rest- edging up to point where he might actually…

"Shawn…"

Rolling flickers, fingers crushing cloth in crumpled folds, a single rivulet rolling into his hairline…

And lashes rose from a pale cheek.

"About time sport." Whispered a heavy voice over his right shoulder.

0o0o0o0o0

'About damn time' had been resting in the crease of his tongue- a comment filled with relief and his own withheld fears. A somewhat modified for general viewing version of that is what spilled over Gus's shoulder while both stared down at the sloe-eyed gaze.

Bruised lips parted, obviously trying to speak before their owner had moved beyond black and white to full spectrum. The latter half of his best friend's name made its hissing début, rising a very wide grin from said friend and his fingers briefly tightened on the arm beneath his palm.

Vision was clearing, scudding clouds of confusion rolling back as recognition began to make way. Well at least amnesia seemed to be out- long term anyhow. Who could know what he'd recall- if anything- from the ass-end of last week. Gus's hand lifted away as Shawn's rolling pupils seemed to come back under his control- a heavy breath lifting the sheet on his chest, head turning somewhat to look more closely at the shapes that made his family.

Sliding slightly past the overjoyed fellow hovering possessively next to the bed rail, Henry carefully placed his hand on his son's left arm, noting the way it trembled furiously. Even doped up- the young man was obviously still in incredible pain. "Gus, would you let a nurse know he's awake?"

Nodding, though reluctant, Gus slipped from his chair, hand pressed against a stiffening back, and pushed through the door as he made for the nurses station.

"Do you remember what happened?" Standard operating procedure would always rule him, in spite of the person he faced be it an unknown or his son- an interrogation table or a hospital bed. The arm beneath him still vibrated, and he kept away his grip- letting the weight of his fingers be the only pressure. Pain was a given, but he wouldn't add to it.

And then he looked into hazel eyes- wide, unblinking, and glazed with fear.

And he knew then, sinkingly- that it wasn't pain making the kid shake so badly- but the panicked compulsion to jerk away.

0o0o0o0o0

The creature had fled with the whispered recitation of his name- a blanket echo cutting a swath across the misted landscape. He spoke to that voice, the name sliding past his face to utter from lips connected somewhere far above; a waspish sound with only a passing resemblance to his best friend's title.

He felt pressure first, something soft and light folded tight across his sternum, rising and falling with every breath. He struggled longer with sight, focus skipping tracks as oval forms hovered beyond the edge of his space.

He heard more words, informal and sideways, and clearing shape slipped away- leaving a paler one behind.

Studious blinks, filmy vision clearing ever more as he finally realized the face looking down on him- brows taking the high road in familiar examination. He tightened his jaw.

It was a trick… it had to be a trick. How many times had he slid from that basement- finally escaped to a place that was safe, only to be dragged down again by clawing hands and mocking exhalations?

"Do you remember what happened?"

No- don't ask that! I'll start to talk and you'll begin to shift, shedding old skin for young, male to female, father to tormentor.

He stared at the eyes overhead, hoping silence would save him this time… send the beast away before its claws could gouge him again.

"Hey…"

He clamped down on the whine in his throat, the barest shred jumping high-pitched through the breath in his nose. The hand on his arm lifted, and he flinched, expecting a strike. But it dropped slowly instead, closing with its mate on gown shrouded knees.

Locked on the being across from him, he noted a difference to this world than before. For one, there wasn't a mist coiling from the edges- grey or otherwise. Two, there were other noises in the distance- soft pings and hisses… clicking heels and tramping feet- muted behind the nearby door.

"Are you awake yet kid?"

What answer was true? He knew what he wanted to say… but trust was fluctuating with recent experience. Would his answer just steal this away too?

"Shawn, answer me."

His shoulder jumped, and he swallowed against the Sahara lodged in his throat. She'd never once called him by name. Only derogatory address had passed her lips, cutting insinuation and barbs as she scoffed his dread.

A short nod as he looked away, not completely in shame- but to study too- confirm his answer in desperate retaliation of the impending transformation he feared was upon him.

"Son…"

It was still that same voice… pitched to a level rarely heard past the age of twelve. Lips a firm line, he breathed through his nose- tremors incrementally fading as he saw the truth of his wakefulness. No metal table, not leather straps, no rising water…

He pivoted back to his father. No Mae.

The far door opened again, spilling a very welcome friend with an unwelcome companion. Heart rate tripping at the sight of the nurse, he fixated on Gus as the other man sank down by his side.

"Talk to him for a while." Passed his father's lips as the other man stood, leading the woman back out again with a hand on her arm.

Relief… flushed and unapologetic lit across the Gus's face. His arms trapping his torso as he pressed against his back rest, sighing away his stress. A dozen conversations floated between them, hundreds of ways to begin to mend… apologize… start over…

He waited… knowing he deserved whatever came. But it wasn't the stinging reproachment he expected.

Instead, the other man shrugged; the motion better than words- and it was done. Hatchet buried, pipe smoked, move on to better things. He nodded, and Gus smiled.

"Good to have you back man."


	24. Shifting Patterns

Henry glanced at his son through the window next to the door. Gus had remained in the room, talking steadily, while Shawn lay on his bed and simply listened. The kid hadn't spoken yet save for that hissed murmur when he first awoke.

"…be some time before his capable of verbal communication." Finished Doctor Saha.

The older man nodded, still focused on the clear view into the softly lit room. It had been explained some days ago that Shawn, in addition to the shattered right arm and badly bruised spine, had taken a bad hit to the face- resulting in fractures to his jaw and orbital bone on the left side. So far, the doctor was holding off on surgery for the cracked eye socket- hoping that once the swelling went down the injury would heal naturally. As for the jaw, they'd had to wire it shut to prevent further damage. The end result- Shawn couldn't talk. Nor, due to the pins in his right arm and brace on his left shoulder- was he easily able to write or make use of the little bit of sign language he'd picked up. As an alternative, the hospital would provide the young man with a monitor and keyboard to tap out anything he might need to share. It would still be awkward without the use of his primary hand- but certainly better than not communicating at all.

"Now that he's awake, we can schedule him for physical therapy. In about a week he'll need to begin regular stretching exercises to strengthen his leg muscles from his earlier injuries, as well as see how much sensation he has in his back. If possible, I'd like him to start flexing on and off through the next several days in preparation- and to prevent stiffening. It will also help with muscle spasms."

Henry turned back to the other man. "Thank you doctor." Not having anything more to add, he shuffled towards the door to his son's room, pushing it open quietly. Shawn looked up as he entered, but didn't cringe like he'd done earlier. Apparently he'd shaken off whatever fears had gripped him in his sleep.

"Hey kid." he greeted, not quite managing a smile. Gus glanced over his shoulder, and Shawn tipped back his head, left hand fingers tapping slightly against the bedding.

Shutting the door behind him, Henry leaned against his IV pole as he limped to his son's bedside. "Doctor Saha told me they'll be bringing you a computer so you can talk. They should be here with it in about fifteen minutes."

Shawn nodded, sighing through his nose. His right arm twitched reflexively as he eased his left hand in front of himself to sign mushily. Watching the careful movements for a second, Henry shrugged. "It might be a while kid… they have to see how well you do with your physical therapy first."

Another trembling bout of signing- accompanied by a pained wince and an anxious, questioning nod. 

Henry blinked in surprise- sharing a look with Gus before turning back to Shawn. "Why did you think he…"

It took longer this time, his right hand seeming to cramp at one point as he tried to make all the right gestures. Had his son been verbalizing the tale, Henry would have looked away in order to collect himself. Instead, he watched as Shawn tapped, flipped, and articulated how he'd been ambushed in the bathroom, then chased downstairs where he was beaten. Many times he seemed to struggle with a sign- whether because he didn't know how to form the word, or because the shape was physically painful to manifest, Henry didn't know. It ended with the retelling, in shaking hands, of the suggestion that the attack had remained _just_ a beating because the attacker had another appointment… 

Before the bat had crushed against his cheek, Shawn had realized the cop was talking about Lassiter.

And he still didn't know what had happened.

"He's fine… just some bruises… nothing like…"

Shawn nodded, clearly relieved. He tried to sign again, but ended up inhaling in pain instead as his fingers seemed to lock up. 

"Shawn?" Gus leaned forward anxiously, but Henry merely reached out and took Shawn's left arm, steadily straightening it and rubbing the hardened muscles while his son moaned softly.

"Charley horse… not surprising considering how much he's been thrashing his hands around."

Shawn grumbled something through clenched teeth that ended in a choked growl as Henry's thumb dug into his forearm.

"Just keep still, try to relax- it'll pass soon."

There was a soft knock at the door behind them; then it pushed open- admitting two assistants carting a computer on a wheeled trolley. "This'll just take us a second to set up." Said one of the men as they brought it to a rest on Shawn's left side. "It's pretty straight-forward to control, just type in what you want to say, and the screen displays the words."

Henry nodded for his son, still massaging rock-like muscles while Shawn clenched his eyes shut in pain. After a few more seconds though, he could feel the rigid flesh start to loosen bit by bit. By the time the two men finished arranging the monitor, Shawn's arm had finally relaxed- allowing the young man to drop back against his pillow with exhaled stress.

"Okay, you're good to go."

Gus thanked the men as they left the room. Meanwhile, Henry laid his son's left arm- skin slightly reddened from the steady treatment, across his stomach as Shawn's eyes slid closed. He was still so exhausted, and his pain medication wasn't exactly a caffeine shot. 

Letting sleep wrap around the younger man, Henry sank against the cushion of his chair. He wasn't ashamed to admit that sleep sounded pretty damn fine to him as well. And, though knowing he'd probably regret it when his back punished him for the mistreatment, he tilted his head back and shut his eyes, welcoming the encroaching dark as he slipped under.

0o0o0o0o0

The next week was a series of stunted conversion, non-language grunts, and occasional attacks of panic brought on, usually, by the various dreams Shawn was subjected to eighty percent of the time he slept. Unfortunately for him, not sleeping was never an option- the irresistible pull of medication far stronger than his own limited attempts.

Most distressing to him though, of all things, was his inability to speak. Had he cared to contemplate irony, he'd have noted that up to this point, he'd been incredibly reluctant to speak anything to anyone. Having the decision taken away should have been a blessing. Instead- it just felt like one more piece of control that had been stripped away. Not speaking before had been his choice; now he had none.

Typing out his thoughts had also fast lost its novelty. It ached to hold his left arm suspended over the keyboard, and he tired quickly- lapsing into broken sign language that inevitably earned him excruciating agony when his muscles spasmed. Whenever this happened, either Gus or his father would spend the next few minutes working the throbbing pain from the protesting limb while he held himself tightly- breathing out relief when the hurt finally ebbed.

On the morning of his first scheduled physical therapy appointment, detective Lassiter stopped by with news. Jud Smart had been arraigned the previous afternoon, and a trial date had been set for the coming Monday. Two counts of attempted murder, plus two counts of aggravated assault. As one victim had been a cop, and the other a police consultant- there was no chance of a plea. Or, as Gus put it enthusiastically- 'nothing but net'. 

Juliet had been there as well- hovering in the doorway when he unconsciously flinched- hating himself instantly. He wanted to apologize, but could only give her a glance that he hoped projected his remorse without inviting her to approach. She apparently had been doing some late-night candle burning on how to read minds, because she merely nodded- offering a small smile of understanding.

After about forty minutes, the two detectives left again. Shawn had something close to an hour before his therapy session, so he crushed his head back into his pillow- hoping for just a few minutes of blank sleep before having to endure the sensation of being filleted with a dull knife.

Not wanting his father and friend to watch him in agony, he'd asked them days ago if he could be alone during the procedures. Reluctantly they'd given in. He was relieved, grateful for their concern- but so ready for a few minutes without their endless worried glances and careful conversation. Barely did it feel as though his head had begun to melt leaden into the softness beneath, though, when he heard the door scrape open. _God… not yet…_ He was too tired for this. Unfortunately, voicing his disapproval would have to wait a few more weeks when the wretched metal locking his teeth together would finally be removed.

The steps were mildly shuffling, and he could tell it was a larger person without even opening his eyes. Great- probably benched three hundred pounds… just what he wanted- an amateur wrestler twisting his body into a pretzel. Sighing, he muttered behind his lips and opened his eyes.

And froze.

It was a woman. They'd sent a woman to do his therapy. Immediately he began sweating, a coil of heat flooding across the back of his neck as he clenched his left hand into a fist.

"Hello Mr. Spencer, my name is Dora Lee, and I'll be your therapist for the next few weeks. I have a lot of experience working with your type of injury, so just follow my lead and we'll do just fine. Okay then, how about we start with the left leg. I'm just going to raise it a bit at first, but you'll probably feel a light pull."

His breathing cut tightly as she stepped to the foot of his bed, moaning through the clenching bands around his throat. Trembling, he tried to push away, but his body protested instantly. Not understanding his actions, the therapist frowned. 

"All right, you need to relax. I know it will be painful, but if you tighten your muscles like this it'll be counter-productive to what we're trying to do." Her hand reached out and grasped his ankle.

"NOPH! DONPH!" he kicked out automatically, his heel grazing her wrist as she jerked back.

"Mr. Spencer! I'm telling you this once, calm down or I'm calling a doctor to give you a sedative!"

She reached for him again and he felt his chest constrict, digging small barbs into the base of his throat. _…please-please-please don't touch me… don't…_

Her hands grasped both ankles this time, holding firmly as he tried to jerk away.

"I know it's unpleasant, and truly I sympathize- but it will be over quickly if you just breathe deeply and let me do what I came here to do." She smiled in a way that some part of his brain suggested was meant to be reassuring. "After a few sessions, it won't be so bad, and the pain will start to fade…"

_"**gggguuuuuuuuuuuhhh!"**_ The rough cry dragged across his vocal cords, slamming into the back of his teeth as it was forced past his lips. The innocent words had thrust him headfirst into the worst of his memories- hovering always just beneath the skin. The panic was hammering against him now, redirecting his ability to respond in any way other than terror. Despite his pain, he twisted away, burying his heels into the bedding and shoving up against the headboard.

Squeezing his eyes shut as he gulped a moan, barely able to breathe through the metal enclosing his jaw, he missed the sudden startled comprehension as the woman stepped away, her mouth open in stricken realization. "Oh God…"

He didn't hear the door open and shut. He didn't hear the slightly raised voice as the therapist flagged down a doctor. All he heard were the hissing poisons he could never seem to escape- clutching his throat, cutting off air, and leaving him shaking at the flecks of black jumping before his eyes.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe.

He dug the fingers of his left hand into the solid cage trapping his gasps, desperately trying to pry the metal threads apart as his chest jumped convulsively. He felt cold, and building tremors wracked his body as he fought for the tiniest whisper of air.

His lids were beginning to droop… sliding down as his torso hitched uselessly… 

He fought to stay awake, even as he slumped against the mattress below… even as he saw the encroaching shadows curling delicately at the edge. He didn't see the door slam open, didn't hear the shouted words as several people raced into the room, their echoed instructions ricocheting off the ceiling. 

All he knew was heavy water, sucking deeply against his flesh as he sank sideways into ragged night.


	25. How To Break Down

Henry grinned, dropping the remote in his lap. Not normally a fan of most of the Reality garbage generally chucked across the set, he'd really come to appreciate a few of the shows on the BBC channel. Sure, most of the crap produced was well beyond his tolerances- eating live scorpions, jumping from a helicopter to an inner tube, and enclosing oneself in a box of freshly picked silverfish more the programming fare for his son than himself. However…

He'd deny it even buried under the ground, but he couldn't get enough of one show in particular. Whether it was the cooking itself, or the mannerisms of the British restaurant owner, he wasn't totally certain. Either way, it was a pleasant distraction while fishing was out of the question.

He chuckled as a heavily censored rant crackled across the small television. Once again, Walden had burned the scallops, and was now getting his ass well and truly chewed. In the background, Stacy and Justin frantically dealt with their own stations while secretly tossing surreptitious glances towards the raging Head chief and his cowering underling.

_"Shut up, get your head from your arse, and get me my scallops! Right? Bloody hell…"_

Henry laughed, noting with appreciation the way the vapid short order cook shuffled back to the running disaster at his station. There was no way this would end well. Already the kid was fumbling with the entrée, spilling a pool of garlic-butter sauce across part of the counter- then leaving small creamy drops on the edges of the plate as he hustled it toward the serving counter…

A noise aside from the clatter of pots emanating from the television slowly pulled the half smile from his face. Quickly tapping the mute button, he frowned when he heard the thud of footsteps pass outside his room. The sound had a rushed quality to it, and he was flipping his legs out of the bed and grabbing the IV pole before it even occurred to him that the emergency could be for someone other than his son. However, as Shawn's room was one of only three more in that direction, and given it was _Shawn_… well that pretty much answered that. Moving as quickly as he was able, Henry stumped down the hall, noting with rising anxiety that it was, in fact, Shawn's room that the medics had pushed into. His left foot slipped a little on the slick floor as he picked up the pace, reaching the door only to be pushed back as he caught sight of his son arching his spine stiffly before collapsing limp on the bed.

"Shawn!"

"You need to stay back sir!" Shouted one of the nurses hovering in the doorway. Henry braced his feet, but the guy wouldn't budge. Meanwhile, the doctor had retrieved a small pair of cutters from the short cabinet next to the bed, and was swiftly severing the thin wires enclosing his son's mouth. As the last strand gave with a dull chuck, the doctor pried apart Shawn's teeth and snapped the fingers of his free hand. A tube instantly filled his palm, and he started feeding it past the slack jaws. In seconds, though, he was pulling it back out again, shaking his head.

"Airway's blocked, prepare for emergency trache!"

_WHAT!?_

_"**Wait!"**_

"No time!"

The doctor took the scalpel slapped into his hand, turning it quickly and pressing the thin blade into Shawn's throat. Glinting silver, a quick slit, blood rolling down the side of his neck, and then the blade was turned- the handle pushing into the opening to widen the incision. Seconds later two pairs of hands aided him with inserting a short blunt valve, followed by a clear tube. As soon as it was settled, another RN placed an oxygen bag over the opening and began feeding air to the distressed lungs.

In moments, it was done- the whole procedure taking less than two minutes.

Enraged, Henry shoved past the medical assistant blocking path, hands shaking. "What in the hell are you doing! What happened to Shawn!"

Doctor Saha didn't turn as he began making small stitches in the skin below the tube, a nurse dabbing at the blood trickling from the cut. "He had a severe panic attack- it caused his trachea to close and we were unable to intubate…"

"**I can tell he had a God damn panic attack- what I want to know****is**_**WHY**_!!"

Saha blinked intently, finishing the last stitch below the device, and beginning on the small slit above it. "I'll explain in a moment, but I need to finish with your son first."

Henry clenched tight fists, bubbling rage caught blazingly behind his eyes. His voice was soft as he began speaking furiously. "He was scheduled to see a therapist about now… who did you send."

Three more stitches and the wound was closed, Saha pausing to clean away a little more blood before turning the rest of the work over to the nursing staff. Standing, he walked over to Henry and gestured to the door. "After you." Henry, meanwhile, tilted back his head, crossed his arms, and glared. Saha cleared his throat. "After me…"

Letting the doctor go ahead back to his room, Henry forced his rage back to a smoldering burn- a far more comfortable and familiar level that had a better chance of preventing a homicide- justified or not.

Though his side was throbbing by this point, Henry chose to remain standing as his door was shut behind him. Saha took a similar stance, though without the intimidating glower. When the doctor rubbed at the back of his head instead of speaking, Henry lifted his brows. "My son has a two inch gash in his throat; I expect an explanation. Now."

The other man lifted his eyes to meet the steady gaze across from him.

"There was a miscommunication… He was supposed to be seen by Reggie Evans, one of our top therapists. Somehow though… They sent another therapist… Dora Lee."

"A woman. You sent a woman in to see my son, alone, knowing Shawn was raped by a woman just a few weeks ago? You were told, specifically, that Shawn couldn't have a female therapist. You assured us you'd see to this yourself. What, now you're going to tell me it was just a mistake? Oh, well, look at that- well, no harm no foul right? Just hack a hole in his throat- never mind that the kid has been through continuous fucking hell for the past half a month! He'll get over it- he's tough, sure!"

"Mr. Spencer… I'm so sorry…"

"Tell it to Shawn… maybe in a month he'll actually be able to answer you." His voice was shaking too much to continue. Rather that look at the doctor across from him, he grabbed his IV and tore open the door- limping back down the hall to see his son.

0o0o0o0o0

It was an hour before Shawn finally started to pull out of his induced unconsciousness. Hazy blinks proved the sedative was reluctant to allow him to awake, and Henry could only wait as clarity slowly bled back into his eyes; torpid at first, then speeding suddenly as the hazel orbs started to dilate alarmingly.

"Calm down, calm down… you're okay kid… nobody else is here…"

After his neck had been dealt with, the staff had rewired his jaw- leaving the clippers in easy reach just in case. Henry didn't even glance at them though, his focus solely on the face before him.

Leaning forward slightly so he was more in Shawn's line of sight, Henry tipped up his chin. "Shawn… hey, look at me kiddo…" he said softly.

Still breathing too quickly, the air whispering through the small tube, Shawn flicked his eyes to the side, staring at Henry's face until the rising fear seemed to come back under his control, ebbing away gradually in small pained tugs.

"It's gonna be okay…"

His chest lifting with shuffing starts, Shawn seemed to sink back into the mattress, a sign of just how much his muscles had tightened in the last few minutes. Seeing that his son was finally quieting, Henry cautiously laid a hand on the other man's wrist. Shawn blinked a few times, but didn't show any additional stress at the touch. Exhaling, Henry patted lightly, carefully aware of the cast near the base of his palm.

The younger man let his head drop back against his pillow, raising his left hand to wipe at his forehead. His fingers still had a slight tremor, but the threat of another attack had apparently been alleviated. Jaw working, he twitched his lips slightly, obviously wanting to open his mouth. And then a complete look of bafflement tightened his brows. He jerked his chin, bewilderment sliding towards alarm as his hand slid over his mouth- not to hide it- but to feel.

"Shawn…"

The hand drifted across his chin, carefully slid down his neck, and stopped when it encountered the tube protruding from his throat. His eyes immediately swiveled to Henry's face again, lips pulling back as he jerked his head a few times, not even able to growl.

"Your throat closed shut… there wasn't any time…"

Shawn shook his head, his eyes flashing with frustrated moisture as a muscle in his cheek jumped. His head jerked a few more times before he slapped his left palm against the covers with a dull phump. Angrily, he lifted his hand in an attempt to sign, but stopped quickly when the movement tugged at his right arm. Wincing, he closed his eyes and turned away, the first few enraged tears disappearing into his hair.

"The doctor said it was just for a few days… they want to make sure you'll be okay…"

Whipping his head back, Shawn- in spite of his pain, signed abruptly, furiously, before dropping his hands and shifting away again.

Staring at the back of his son's skull, Henry frowned, the words jumping in his head with his son's stubborn inflection. _"I'm not!"_

Sitting back in his chair, the older man pinched the bridge of his nose.

0o0o0o0o0

Gus, arriving back from a very necessary day at work, was nearly speechless when he entered Shawn's room again later that night. _Nearly_ speechless.

"What the hell happened!!"

Shawn barely glanced at his friend, his expression disheartened as he let his eyes wander across the patterns in the wallpaper.

"Why don't you sit down Gus." Said Henry quietly. The younger man, after looking at his friend a little longer, finally complied.

"What happened?" he asked again, his voice softer but no less anxious and shocked. Henry's tone was equally low, carefully inflected as he explained. While he talked, he could see the vehement outrage simmering beneath the other man's skin. He understood. It was incomprehensible. To be in a place that should have been a sanctuary- surrounded by people that should have been trusted… Well Henry had his own opinions about that in any event. He'd seen enough Reader's Digest statistics to have a fairly questionable view of standard hospital care. Actually, he should be grateful Shawn still had all his limbs attached…

"So what now?" asked Gus tightly, his eyes going back to Shawn as the other man continued to contemplate the papered field of tiny cream flowers.

"Barring any complications they should be able to take the tube out in about five or six days." Henry rubbed his thumb over the back of his wrist. "He'll probably have a small scar… but nothing disfiguring. He should heal just fine." He'd forgotten at this point who, exactly, he was trying to reassure. Gus barely nodded, sliding away to go sit next to his friend. Hoping the other man would have better luck than him, Henry left the two boys alone- working his slow and pained way back to his own room.

Shawn would be fine… He just needed rest. He'd be fine…


	26. Forward

thap…

thap…

thap…

thap…

thap…

Being locked behind your own throat certainly offers plenty of time for thoughtful introspection. Like how it feels as though you're just one step away from gagging around the hard plastic device cutting into your esophagus. And how the tissue in your mouth and nose is so dry that the flesh cracks and bleeds. And no matter how much you want to open your mouth, to stretch the aching muscles of your jaw- you can't, because thick wires encase your teeth like a metal fence. And you can't yell, because the only sound you can make is a grunt. And you can't cry- because crying makes your throat hurt worse as it tightens. And you can't beg for help, because there's nothing that can be done. And you can't think, because you start to remember… and then you want to scream, and you want to cry, and you want to beg…

thap…

thap…

thap…

thap…

"Shawn?"

thap…

thap…

thap…

thap…

"Hey… look at me."

thap…

thap…

thap…

"Shawn, stop that dammit!"

The younger man's finger froze over the bedding, hovering for a second before lowering quietly to the sheet. He hadn't even been aware of the agitated gesture. Blinking rapidly, he used his thumb to clear his eyes before rolling over to face his father. His wished the other man would just go away for a while. In another ten minutes, Doctor Saha and an assistant were going to be coming in to change the tube feeding air to his lungs. They'd already done so once before, and it was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling- and one he didn't appreciate having an audience for. However, since the… 'incident' yesterday, he was stuck with either his father- or sometimes Gus, hanging by his bed whenever he was scheduled for any sort of treatment procedure or therapy session, or even having the sheets changed. He was particularly embarrassed when it came time to clean his own body. Not capable of a shower under his own strength, he had to endure the once a day warm cloth wipe-down by a guy with more hair on his arms than on his head.

"Tell me what to do for you."

Shawn swallowed, flinching sharply at the burning pain that accompanied the involuntary reaction. He desperately wanted to rub at the swollen flesh around the gash in his throat, but he was afraid of dislodging the only source of oxygen left to him. Instead, he signed carefully.

"Hold on, I'll get a cloth."

His father stood, quickly disappearing from sight. Moments later there was a brief hush of running water from the bathroom. Then the man returned, damp cloth folded in his palm. Settling himself back in his chair, he pressed the cold terry against the reddened area on Shawn's neck. Even though the temperature of the cloth was low, Shawn still jerked when it touched the wound, closing his eyes tightly, head arched back, left hand hovering and flexing a few inches above the sheet while his father held the cold moisture against his skin.

After a few moments, the damp coolness started to alleviate some of the rough sting, and he let his hand sink down onto the sheet, loosely grasping a handful of thin cotton.

"It looks a little better… the swelling seems like it's going down some…"

Obviously not able to respond, Shawn just tilted his head back a little more, and Henry carefully moved the cloth around to the other side, flipping it over when it started to warm against the heated flesh. It was a help, certainly, to have the coolness easing some of the pain, but it did nothing for his anxiety. He couldn't help the fear that what the doctors said was just platitude- something to keep him calm while they plotted behind his back. What if this was permanent? What if they never took it out? What if he started coughing and couldn't stop? What if he inhaled something… started to choke…

He wasn't aware that he'd started to tense up again until he felt a rough hand press down on his collarbone. Opening his eyes, he turned his gaze towards his father, who was looking at him intently.

"Kid, when mom left… do you remember what I told you?"

Of course he remembered- as if he'd forget that night. Coming home from Gus's to see his father standing in the kitchen, hands braced on the sink as he stared into the drain. It had been unbelievably quiet- the plunking tap of water leaking from the faucet the only sound for those first few moments. Then his dad had turned around. His face had been… stiff. He was actually absent of expression, staring back at his son still hovering in the door. "She's gone." That was his dad- Mr. Pull No Punches Spencer. And this one had taken the breath right out of him. His bag had fallen to the floor with a click-shunk, and he'd looked down at it, wondering where the strength in his hands had gone. He couldn't walk forward, he couldn't look back up- not even when his father had walked over and stood in front of him. But he'd listened… always hearing the words even though he often didn't heed them. "She's moving her things out this weekend. She's going to stay with her friend Leslie until she can get an apartment."

He supposed he must have nodded, because his dad had placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up at his looming face. "It'll be hard. You're going to miss her, and you're going to be sad. It will be strange getting used to this." Then his father knelt, both hands on his shoulders now. "But I promise you, you won't be alone. Can you trust that Shawn?"

Shawn looked up at his father now- older, much less hair, but the exact same expression. Gripping his bedding in one hand, forcing his spine to relax, he sank back down to the mattress. Finally, slowly, he nodded.

Wordlessly, his father brushed the hair from his forehead.

0o0o0o0o0

Were he the type to do so, and were his hip not currently sending little zings of electricity darting down his leg with frustrating regularity, Lassiter would be bouncing down the hall. As it was, he had to suppress the desire to grasp the grey clothed shoulder hovering near his right bicep as he and O'Hara walked past the nurse's station on their way to the elevator. However, self preservation overrode his need for balance. And he liked his ribs intact thank you very much.

Stepping into the antiseptic smelling space, the detective tapped at the button for the correct floor. This was the first time since Spencer had been admitted that he actually felt good about paying the young man a visit. Not hearing the sarcastic and overloud snark was not something he'd ever dream he'd miss. But the last time he'd heard anything like it from the questionably psychic psychic had been right after he'd forcibly shoved the other man out of a crime scene- earning an indignant protest.

_"I'll have you know this is a vintage garment!"_

The next time he'd heard the man's voice had been nearly a week later, broken and tight with whispered pain, hissing over a phone as he plead with the detective to save his father. And nothing had been the same since.

Their floor ponged softly, followed by the gliding clunk of the doors sliding open. Placing his hand against the door frame, Lassiter eased himself over the threshold and took several rolling steps forward.

"You okay?"

He barely glanced at his concerned partner. "I am on top of the world O'Hara." He opened his mouth to extrapolate on his honed ability to take a hit and keep going- but managed to strangle the impulse quickly before his mental shovel could begin digging. The end result was a slightly clipped off puff of air that had the young woman giving him an odd look before stopping next to Spencer's door; the window to the side blocked by heavy blinds.

At this point, her face softened, familiar worry bleeding across it as she let her partner take the lead. He knew how much it was bothering the woman to be in this position. Spencer still tensed up whenever he saw her, forcing her to keep her distance from the guy who previously went out of his way to flirt with her whenever he had the chance. Though the display generally disgusted the Head detective… oddly… he had begun to miss that too.

When he continued to stand before the door- arms hanging almost ape-like from the sockets in his shoulders- O'Hara finally reached out and tapped lightly against the fabricated surface. There was a quiet shuffling from inside, and then the door opened a bit to expose the roughened features of Henry Spencer.

"Detectives." He said by way of greeting. However, instead of letting them in, he stepped out. Lassiter backed up to allow the older man to push himself through the door- glancing past to catch a brief glimpse of the younger Spencer lying on his back. Something seemed off about him- but the door shut again before he could get a proper look.

Still not speaking yet, Henry hobbled his way back towards his room. His IV pole was gone by this point, but he seemed to be strong… or stubborn enough… not to need the additional aid to keep upright as he stumped forward, not even bracing himself on the readily available wall.

His own room was just a few feet away, and he silently held the door open while the detectives filed inside.

Lassiter had felt a growing disconcertion during the short quiet march down the hall- and was even more uneasy when Henry leaned against the door jam with his arms crossed. His face was unreadable- not really that unusual of a thing- but the way he held himself was far tenser than the detective was used to from the older man. What the hell was going on?

"Something happened yesterday…" He spoke carefully, precisely, as though crafting a police report. Not once did his gaze waver from the two in front of him; voice strong as he filled them in on the last twenty four hours.

Lassiter kept his jaw locked throughout the story, hearing his partner gasp at one point. Idiots. It was unacceptable! What, was there an undotted 'i' in the file? Maybe somebody spelled female wrong. Should they have included a cartoon to illustrate it better? But Henry was moving past that part of the narrative, and suddenly Carlton wanted to sit down. There weren't any internal quips this time, only shock. He understood now, why Henry decided to tell them in private. The younger man certainly didn't have to keep hearing the previous day rehashed in front of him over and over. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of Spencer fitted with a tracheal tube. The mental picture just wouldn't generate.

Unfortunately it didn't need to, as the older man had wrapped up, and now turned to pull open his door again. Suddenly reluctant to follow, Lassiter would have remained rooted had not O'Hara given him a not so delicate jab in his spine with one far too sharply filed pastel fingernail. He was pretty sure that one drew blood.

It was only a short walk back to the younger man's room, but with leaden steps, it seemed longer. Finally though, he was once more in front of the door, held somewhat impatiently open by a mute former cop. His 'welcome to our home' gesture had a slight sarcastic sweep to it, and Lassiter took the hint, leading his quiet partner forward. Both of them approached the bed cautiously, letting Henry take point as he returned to the chair next to the mattress.

Lassiter's eyes had been locked on the back of the older man's graying scalp. However, the moment Henry sat, he lost that small shield, and reluctantly, let himself turn to the form on the bed. It wasn't an easy thing to ignore. The breathing tube was like a hideous plastic growth jutting from the young man's throat. And each breath he took in seemed like a hard won battle as he had to almost suck at the air. Oddly, O'Hara seemed to take it in stride, and he could hear her murmur something at his back. Turning a little, he asked her to repeat it.

"I said my grandmother had one of those. They probably gave him too small of a cannula- it happens all the time, particularly as it was an emergency insertion. It looks like a six millimeter… they should switch it out with an eight- it will make a big difference…"

"He's getting it taken out again in a few days…"

"How many days would you want to go with decreased oxygen?" She interrupted quickly, her eyes dark.

Lassiter rubbed the back of his neck. Good point.

"Were you here for a specific reason or should I ask one of the doctors to get you two your own room?" Asked Henry calmly.

Guiltily, both detectives turned back to the two Spencers, both of them eyeing the other two with varying levels of sullen.

Clearing his throat slightly, his gaze studiously avoiding the younger man's additional hardware, Carlton folded his arms. "Actually, yes. I was in court this afternoon to hear the sentencing for Jud Smart." His smile was crisp, tight, and showing some teeth. "Two consecutive life terms. He'll be able to qualify for parole sometime around his one hundred and seventy-fifth birthday."

Henry nodded, unsmiling. Shawn just blinked, then rubbed wearily at his temple.

Okay, he didn't expect cheering but…

O'Hara spoke then, doing her duty as backup by talking through the palatable discomfort.

"Actually there's something else that came out during questioning. Apparently Smart has been passing information to Warren Phelps for several years now in an attempt to curry favor with the DA's office. Seems he was passed over for several promotions, and he was trying to find a back door in. The thing is- a lot of what he obtained was done so very much illegally… including Shawn's statement to detective Lassiter." She turned to look at the younger man, her eyes clearly pained. "You should never have been put on the stand. The whole thing was a complete manipulation… Shawn, I'm so…"

He held up a hand to stop her, then signed briefly. O'Hara looked at Henry for help.

"He doesn't want you to apologize."

Juliet nodded. "Okay, I'm sorry… I mean…" Flustered, she covered her eyes and shook her head. Carlton wished she hadn't, because she missed the unexpected flash that passed across the younger Spencer's face. Good God… had that been… amusement? But it was incredibly brief, and gone by the time his partner raised her head again.

"What's going to happen with Phelps?" Asked Henry, his face still calm, but his voice sounding far more dangerous than it had moments ago.

"That whole office is under investigation. I'll be honest though, the man won't have a lot of trouble finding representation. If anything it'll be a slap on the wrist." Said Carlton in irritation.

And with that, he was out of topics. He shifted again, knowing small talk was called for, but not having a single thing to bring to the table. He was not a small talker… he tended to leave such things to…

"It was Buzz's birthday today, we had a giant party for him at the station! I took some pictures if you want to see- they're on my phone so the images are small but if you squint…"

And he smiled again.

* * *

A/N: I want to thank you reviewers that actually took the time to tell me what you thought, what you liked, and how this affected you. It is such a treat to recieve an honest critique, and I'm grateful to you for that. We have one more chapter to go before the end- I'm so glad you decided to stick with me until then!

Take care!!

-TR


	27. This Is Real

I hurt myself today

_I hurt myself today __  
__To see if I still feel __  
__I focus on the pain __  
__The only thing that's real __  
__The needle tears a hole__  
__The old familiar sting __  
__Try to kill it all away…_

_  
__But I remember everything_

It ended up being ten days before the tracheal tube could finally be removed from his throat. However, it was four weeks after that before the metalwork enclosing his teeth was finally snipped and stripped from his gums and jaw. He was out of it for the procedure, but waking up again hours later, mouth stinging and bristly with small but numerous stitches, he'd been amazed to rock his head back for a yawn… and find that he actually could. Granted, he immediately whined in pain- but the freedom of movement made up for that gloriously.

A point of irritation, though, was his continued stay at the hospital. Walking was very awkward, and slightly excruciating with limbs damaged and not used to being mobile- but he _could_ walk… to his great relief. His right arm was still immobilized with a small silver forest of metal pins- and would remain so for the next several months. His broken ribs were heavily wrapped, and they- too- would take a few more months to fully heal. There was still some tenderness in his side from being stabbed- but the wound that seemed most troublesome was the gouge in his left leg. Twice it had become infected, requiring several rounds of antibiotics and more pain meds than he cared to remember. Concerned by possible nerve damage, Doctor Saha had been adamant about him remaining incarcerated. And to his unending consternation- Gus and his father… and God- even Lassiter, had backed the man up.

Nothing like the support of friends and family.

Shawn sat on the edge of his chair, staring out at the activity in the parking lot below. He spent most of his day there- loathing his hospital bed for multiple reasons. In fact, he was seriously considering having his own bed at home burned… maybe have a hammock installed in its place…

Watching the cars moving about below, he was unaware of his left hand tracing slowly up and down the rough patch of scar tissue at the base of his throat. Was that a familiar blue company car… no, wrong shape. Gus had been there fairly late last night- and he no doubt had a lot of work to catch up on… Shawn would actually have been surprised to see him show up again so soon. Really- he was grateful for the break. Dad had been there from this morning till about twenty minutes ago. Now that he'd been released from the hospital, he'd been spending some time sweet-talking Shawn's landlady into letting his rent payments lapse a little until he was capable of earning money again. Granted, he'd paid this last month out of savings- but there hadn't been enough for the next month. Still, now that he'd seen how his father could work his charm with women over forty nine- he had no doubt the old man would succeed.

He eased away from the window again, wincing a little at the pull in his back, fingertips still tracing up and down, up and down. As a cloud passed through the sky- it cast a shadow across the window, throwing back the interior of the room in a ghostly refection… and he saw what he was doing. He dropped his hand immediately, self conscious of the motion. Then he looked away from the silvery version of himself, disgusted by the dark ridge of flesh just above his sternum.

Turning back towards the room, he blinked wearily and wiped at his eyes. The first time he'd looked at these walls he'd memorized the place. And repetition did not help endear it to him. He hated it here. He hated the color of the walls, he hated the scrape the chairs made as they dragged on the floor, he hated the random steps of people walking by his room… the random visits by staff… the uncomfortable visits by friends… his father… But mostly, of all the things he could hate… he hated the steady drip- drip drip- drip- drip drip of water from the leaky bathroom faucet. He would forever associate that sound with…

_"It will fade…"_

He jerked his head as his breathing quickened automatically- clenching his one free hand on the arm of his chair. He didn't want another attack… he couldn't handle it- it hurt, compressing his chest, crushing out his breath, making his heart hammer painfully… Anything to not go through that again…

Slowly the dizzying sensation passed, and he pressed his fingertips against his forehead.

Was this it then? Was this life from now on? The most innocuous sounds made him jump… the smell of food made him sick… the sight of friends made him guilty… He couldn't look at his own reflection anymore without shame and revulsion. He trembled when a woman got within five feet of him. Why the fuck couldn't he just get over it?? What was his problem?? It had been more than a month now… plenty of time to push it in the past. He was acting like a child- it wasn't that big of a deal! It was just sex… he could convince himself of that… right? And she'd been right- it wasn't like it was his first time with a girl… So she'd been aggressive- most guys liked that. It wasn't a big deal… just… sorta like a one night stand that got a little too wild… just sex… just a simple thing… no big deal…

He angrily brushed at his cheeks, trying to slow his breathing again. Bending at the waist, he clutched his uninjured arm around his midsection, tightening his eyes and baring his teeth as he fought desperately for control. Shaking, he closed his lips firmly, muting his cries forcefully, but unable to prevent more tears from collecting at the base of his chin and running along his throat. Then he gasped, and a sob escaped unexpectedly. With its release, he could no longer battle the ones that followed, curling awkwardly to the side in torment.

Why hadn't he fought harder? His legs had been free when she lowered herself on him, he could have kicked- never mind the gun in his face- he might have knocked it away enough… and even if she shot him- there's no saying it would have been fatal- his dad survived being shot… he could have taken it… anything would have been better than… better than…

_She raped me… she raped me and I couldn't get away… I couldn't fight her… I was raped… _

He choked, rasping a furious cry into his shoulder, arm and back throbbing with pain. But he couldn't move… stricken with realization… horrified… _I was raped… Oh God…I was raped…_

He couldn't stop the thought from punishing him, beating through his temples so hard he felt like it was giving him a migraine. He couldn't stop shaking… he felt cold and his teeth chattered violently. Her face was right there, inches away from his as she smiled… leaning forward to pant breathlessly at his throat. He couldn't erase it… it was always right there…

Why didn't I fight harder?? Why'd I let that happen… let her do that to me… I should have fought… if she'd shot me it would have been better… I might have gotten away… why can't I get over it? What's the matter with me? Am I a freak?? How can anyone possibly understand… it wasn't a big deal… it was just sex… it wasn't a big deal…

He grated out rough cries, sinuses aching, throat ever raw since the wound in his neck had been stitched back together.

And he couldn't stop sobbing, breath jerking his chest in short violent strokes as he huddled in the chair- back to the window. _Please don't let anyone see me like this_ he begged silently- mortified by the thought of his father walking in on him.

Breathing hurt, thinking hurt, remembering hurt…

Living hurt…

_"Promise me."_

And he had… he'd promised… he'd keep it… of any promise he refused to break… Because of what Gus would think… what his father would think…

_Failure…_

Why did it happen… he should have fought harder… he should have done something… anything… anything to stop her… Why didn't he fight harder… Why couldn't he just get over it? What was the big deal… it was just sex right? Just sex… he'd done it before… it wasn't a big deal… _she raped me…_

He ground a scream into the corner of the chair.

Why did this have to happen…

0o0o0o0o0

Grey film pulled away from his eyes.

The arm of the chair was biting into his left arm- numbing it from the elbow down into his fingertips. Groaning, he fumbled upright, inadvertently smacking his right elbow against the backrest and yelping in response. He ached from hanging half-draped for so long over the side. Falling asleep braced on his elbow was definitely getting added to his mental list of 'never do again'. Actually, he might even underline that one…

He was incredibly stiff, and all he accomplished by twisting himself forward was a sudden tightening of the muscle between his third and forth ribs. Growling, he waited it out breathlessly as the small spasm gradually melted away. After a moment, he started to ease himself against the cushion, but jerked at the sharp stab in his lower back. Definitely wouldn't be sleeping in chairs for a while. Raising his left hand instead, he rubbed at the dried residue caught in his lashes. Suddenly, all he wanted was a shower… in fact- he had to have a shower… the hotter the better… right now.

In spite of the sudden pressing need, however, pulling himself out of the chair proved to a far greater challenge than he thought. All of his muscles had apparently been plotting against him while he slept, figuring out the best way to torture him upon awakening.

Gripping the chair arm furiously, wishing he had more than one usable arm, he dragged himself forward until he could begin pushing up without risk of falling backward again. It was slow work, and by the time both feet were beneath him, he was trembling. But he was upright. A reinforced cane stood next to his chair, and he wrapped his hand gratefully around the handle as he limped towards the bathroom.

Once inside the smaller room, it took longer to shed his hospital issued garment than it should have considering it was attached with just a few ties. Finally though, the thin material dropped to the floor. Stepping away from it, Shawn caught a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror and grimaced. The scar on his right side- though nearly healed, was pink and puckered and unsightly. Looking away, he removed the brace from his ribcage, having no desire to see the mottled flesh beneath. Nothing like a visual reminder of his many shortcomings.

Reaching into the shower one-handed, he turned on the tap; only having to wait a few moments for the temperature to stabilize. Once it was as hot as he could tolerate, he stepped under the spray.

The thunder from the cascading water was a balm- blanking out all other sound, all other stimulus, all other thought. And the heat- nearly scalding- helped him feel as though he were burning away those layers of himself that had been contaminated. And as long as he was in the water- it was okay… he could start feeling clean again… for a while. Unfortunately it never lasted. Once the water turned off again… once he was dry… the sensation of filth came back… crawling and filmy.

But not now… For now… it was okay.

After a few minutes of just standing under the flowing heat, he reached out blindly, tapping with his hand, until he found the bar of soap. Lathering a washcloth, he started scrubbing fiercely, working his way top to bottom. He had to take it easy on his ribs- as well as the stab wounds on his side and leg… and his right arm was completely out of the question. But everywhere else was scoured thoroughly.

He lost track of time.

He tilted his head back, letting the pounding drops pepper against his cheeks and eyelids. His hair flattened against his scalp like a helmet. Every few seconds he leaned forward to take a breath before pushing back under the deluge. All he felt was sheeting water. All he heard was scudding spray… flowing endlessly… frothing… gurgling…

_He could feel the hose bite into the roof of his mouth seconds before the hammering rush crushed against the back of his throat… He was drowning! He couldn't see… he couldn't hear his father anymore… he was going to die like this!_

Slamming against the corner of the shower, Shawn breathed rapidly, staring up at the spitting nozzle less than a foot away. The cast off was still close enough to hit into his chest, but it wasn't running down his face anymore. Couldn't he escape even in here?

Swallowing, he rubbed at his right shoulder, feeling the pinpricks in his arm- but unable to go anywhere near that damage without making it worse. Still hovering in the corner, he rested the back of his head against the misted tiles.

After a while, he became aware of a muffled tapping. Lifting his hand, he fumbled until he found the rounded tap. The sudden quiet pressed against his eardrums. Flicking the hair from his face, he worked one foot out onto the coarse rug resting beneath the clear door. Just outside the bathroom, someone tapped lightly. "Shawn?"

He grabbed a towel, holding it in front of himself. "Gus?"

"You okay? I've been waiting for you to come out for almost half an hour."

He blinked, then started drying himself expediently. "I'll be out in a minute."

It was actually closer to fifteen by the time he redressed- leaning heavily against the wall to keep himself from falling. Getting the brace back on one-handed though- that was a joke. Instead, he left the offending device on the floor. Doctor Saha or an assistant would just have to put it back on later.

Grabbing his cane, he stumped to the door, pausing to lean heavily while he pulled it open before limping through.

Gus was sitting on his bed when he reappeared- flipping distractedly through channels on the small mounted set. Keeping his eyes focused ahead of himself, Shawn limped back to his chair, easing himself down carefully, doing his best to hide his pain. He might as well have not bothered though- Gus may not have his memory- but he did have a sharp pair of eyes when it came to his best friend.

"Leg?"

Shawn nodded, not speaking.

"Can I get anything for you?"

He shook his head.

Wordlessly Gus flipped off the set, pivoting on the bed to regard the other man nervously. Shawn noticed how tightly his friend was gripping the mattress- how his hands trembled just slightly. There was a paleness around Gus's lips, but a notable firmness in his eyes that hadn't been there until now.

So this was it then.

He wasn't ready.

Looking away, he tried to think of something he could say… anything to stop the other man… There had to be something! A thousand subjects just waited to be discussed- anything was open to them from the most boring to the most inane. Their shared history was full of excellent topics- places they'd visited- people they'd met- scandals they'd vowed to never divulge to their parents… But no matter what he reached for- he couldn't get a handle on a single thing. It was ridiculous! Talking had never been a problem before…

But that was the whole point… wasn't it.

And as long as he _didn't_ talk… they never could again.

Gus still hadn't spoken… but Shawn could hear the words… the question… hanging between them. And suddenly, he didn't want to force his friend to ask.

He could at least spare him that.

It would change things… he knew.

But nothing was the same anymore in any event.

And he was so tired of carrying this alone.

He was so tired of _being_ alone.

He could hear the dripping faucet again. He could hear the breath- in and out- of the man sitting across from him. He could hear the muffled tap of shoes passing back and forth outside his door. And behind his eyes- trapped in his mind- he could hear the endless taunt… the broken screams… and the sound of a gunshot.

He lifted his eyes, not diverting his gaze… not shrinking away…

It was over. And he was done hiding.

Pulling in one cleansing breath, letting it release with the barest shake, he rested his hands in his lap and opened his mouth.

"The sun was starting to set. Dad and I had just finished dinner, and decided to hang out to the porch and have a few beers…"

_And you could have it all __  
__My empire of dirt __  
__I will let you down __  
__I will make you hurt_

_If I could start again __  
__A million miles away __  
__I would keep myself __  
__I would find…_

_a way…_

_**END**_

**Chapter End Notes:**

Music quoted: "Hurt", performed by Johnny Cash

Once more, I wish to thank everyone who took the time to write out a thoughtful review. I deeply appreciate it when there is such a considerate return after writing a story as emotionally draining as this one was to create. You guys really made my day!!


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